


And Touch Me Like You Never

by runaway_train



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Coming Out, Derogatory Language, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Years, Pining, Roommates, Rough Sex, Sexuality Crisis, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16807672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaway_train/pseuds/runaway_train
Summary: “Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”OrThe one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This work was created as part of the Larry Holiday Fic Fest, based on the following prompt:
> 
> Tired of not having a New Year’s Kiss, Person A and B decide to be each other’s back up plan for the night. But what if that back-up plan ends up becoming a little more than what they bargained for?
> 
> Pretty angsty and a lot of smut for a 'holiday' fic, but that's just how it seemed to go. Massive thank you to Ana ([finck-you-freeky](http://finck-you-freeky.tumblr.com)) for helping me with this fic, I wouldn't have finished it without her. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> I also have a Tumblr which is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello! The specific post for this fic is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/post/181150947085/and-touch-me-like-you-never-written-as-part-of-the). 
> 
> Title is from ['Not Afraid Anymore' by Halsey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-BP4z5vFgTQ)

“This party’s dry as fuck.”

Louis turns to Harry and sighs. “You’re only saying that ‘cause no girls have come up to you yet.” He takes a sip of his vodka cranberry.

They’re standing in the corner of a dining room in some posh flat in North Kensington having been here for twenty minutes and no-one has so much as made eye contact with either of them. Harry takes a sip from his own glass, his lips puckering in disgust. “Urgh, how can you drink this shit? And it’s not ‘cause no girls have come up to me. It’s just dry as fuck. It’s all boring couples and everyone’s acting like they’re at a book signing or a cheese and wine night. It’s New Year’s Eve for Christ’s sake, can’t they act like it?”

Louis’ shoulders sag. “The vodka’s fine, and this party’s fine. Stop being a prick.”

“Vodka cranberry is what underage girls drink because they don’t like the taste of alcohol,” Harry informs him.

Louis’ eyebrows knit together. “Are you calling me an underage girl?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I’m saying you’ve got absolute shit taste in alcoholic beverages.”

“I have shit taste in best friends too apparently.”

“Heeeeey.” He wraps an arm around Louis’ waist and plants a kiss on his cheek. “You love me. And I had a few offers for tonight, I could've gone anywhere and you made me come here.”

Louis playfully pushes Harry off of him. “So you keep reminding me.”

“Who’s party is this again?” Harry asks him, taking another sip of his too sweet drink, the taste clawing at the inside of his mouth. He’ll need to persevere and finish it, knowing that attempting to make it through tonight sober is probably not advisable given their current surroundings.

“It’s my new boss Victor’s girlfriend’s party. Thought I would show face and get on his good side.”

Harry lowers his head down to the side so his mouth is lined up beside Louis’ ear. “There is no-one listening to us. Come on, admit it, this party sucks,” he whispers.

Louis chuckles. “OK, it sucks. I guess we’ll have to get drunk.”

“Finally! Someone talking my language!” Harry raises his glass towards Louis, and waits for a couple of seconds for Louis to clink his own against it.

“Yeah well I’ll need to in order to get over the fact I don’t have a date for New Years for the first time in forever.” Harry doesn’t tell Louis that that’s a good thing as Louis’ last boyfriend was a complete and utter wanker. Most of the guys he dates are. Louis has the worst taste in men, which is odd considering he has fantastic taste in best friends.

“Eh hello?” He narrows his eyes at Louis, pointing a finger at his own face. “I’m your date. Which means we’ll have to kiss each other tonight,” Harry tells him flippantly.

“Yeah, right. Like I would kiss you.”

Harry finds that somewhat offensive. “And why not?” he scowls.

Louis doesn’t answer straight away, lifting his glass to his lips and drawing in another mouthful of liquid before he swallows. “Because you’re my best mate not my boyfriend. And you aren’t even gay?”

Harry rejects his explanation with a dismissive wave of his hand. “So? It’s only kissing. And I have never explicitly expressed my sexuality thank you very much. I don’t feel the need to label myself.”

“You’re only saying that because you want everyone to want to suck your dick; male, female or anyone in between.” Louis lightheartedly pokes a finger in Harry’s rib, making him briefly recoil.

“Well most people do. Apart from at this fucking party.”

Louis hides his face in the hand that isn’t holding his glass. “You’re such a smug arsehole.” He lifts his head back up and looks back at Harry. “Why am I friends with you again?”

Harry knows Louis already knows the answer to that, but he responds anyway, draping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulling him in close. “Because, my darling Lou, I know you better than anyone else, I look after you and our flat, I make you laugh, and you know perfectly well most of the smug arsehole shit I say I only say to you and that it’s total bollocks and I don’t really believe it.”

“Very true Harold.”

“So, back to the original point. We’re kissing each other at midnight yeah?” Harry raises an eyebrow. It really wouldn’t be that bad. It’s not like Louis isn’t attractive. Harry’s done far worse in his time.

Louis looks around the room hesitantly before he turns back to Harry and gives him a small smile. “Unless we get any better offers though?”

“Course,” Harry agrees, draining the remainder of his drink. “Let’s shake on it.”

***

“Next year, I’m going to spend New Years abroad I swear. On a beach, one of those giant cocktail thingys with a mini umbrella you drink out of a mango in my hand.” It’s forty five minutes later and Harry has knocked back another four double vodka cranberry and a couple of shots, and he’s feeling a bit pissed.

“D’you mean a coconut?” Louis asks him.

Harry turns to face Louis properly. Louis’ eyes appear somewhat glazed and there’s a light flush on his neck from the drink. “No. I mean a mango.”

Louis pats at Harry’s leg. “Yeah, Harold, I don’t think they’d be very good for holding drinks in, skin’s too soft.”

“Why not? They would make the drink all… like… mangoey.”

Louis looks disapprovingly at him. “That’s not a word.”

“It is. I just used it.”

“You know that’s not really how it works bubs. You’re meant to be a successful magazine journalist, you can’t go round making up words.”

Harry sticks his bottom lip out, knowing it’s the key to breaking the man in front of him. “But I want my drink in a mango, Lou.”

Louis laughs. “OK, OK, I’ll get you a drink in a mango next New Years I promise.”

“You’re the bestest. I love you.” He slumps down to rest his head on Louis’ shoulder.

“I love you too.”

“Well look what the cat dragged in?” Harry hears a female nasalise to his left. He looks up. Oh hell no, this was the last thing he needed.

“Hey Kendall,” Louis says before Harry can say anything to her.

“Hey Louis. You alright?” Harry watches them air kiss, trying to decide if he can make a run for it before they pull away again. The alcohol isn’t helping the speed of his neurones.

“Good thanks, you?” Louis answers before resting back against the sideboard both he and Harry have been propped up against.

“Yeah not too bad. Just got in from New York a few days ago.” She flicks her long, raven hair behind her shoulder and turns to Harry, running a perfectly manicured hand smoothly down his forearm. “Would have called you if I knew you were coming to this thing tonight. Only got here a little while ago. What a small world, you knowing Cheska.”

“Oh well, you know me, always popping up when you least expect it,” he says to his ex girlfriend. Well, girlfriend being a very loose term. They had dated on and off for a few years because she’s a great girl and they have fun when she’s in town, but she’s always wanted more and that hasn’t ever been Harry’s remit.

“I’ll say.” She looks appreciatively up and down Harry’s body. “You look good Harry.”

Harry doesn’t bother returning the favour of a glance, he’s well versed in what her body looks like, particularly without clothes. “So do you Kenny. Modelling still going well?”

Her face lights up at the mention of her career, her head bouncing in an ardent nod. “Yeah definitely. I landed a Calvin Klein gig last month, and I’ve booked a couple of runway shows in London and Paris for fashion week. Think I’m really about to make it big. How’s work for you?”

Harry takes a sip of his drink and releases a gasp of satisfaction, not that his drink is all that satisfying. “Same old, same old, still at the magazine.”

She nods with a smile, probably not actually caring how his work is. She licks her immaculately painted lips. “Well, I guess I should go get myself a drink. You want to come with? Could catch up on old times?” Harry knows what that look is, and that catching up on old times means jumping in a cab and heading back to whatever hotel or rented apartment she’s staying in. That’s the last thing Harry wants to do. He likes Kendall, and she’s pretty harmless in the grand scheme of things, but he can’t be arsed with the drama that will undoubtedly unfold when he breaks things off with her for the umpteenth time. She’s never been able to understand what Harry means when he uses the phrase ‘keep it casual’.

“Nah babe, the bells aren’t too far away. Best stay where I am. Don’t want to miss my midnight kiss.”

“Oh, you’re here with someone?” She looks disappointed, surveying the room as if to garner knowledge on who that someone might be.

“Yeah, Louis.” Harry tips his head towards Louis on his right, as if Kendall has forgotten who and where he is.

She looks confused for a split second before shocked comprehension spreads across her face, her eyes enlarging. “Oh right. I see. Finally decided to quit all the bullshit and actually get together then?” she says, her voice barbed.

Harry feels Louis tense beside him, and he does the same at the peculiar accusation. “What? No? We’re just mates. We’re kissing at the bells as neither of us have dates tonight. What makes you think we’d be together?”

She tips her head back and laughs without a shred of humour. “You’re kidding right? Everyone that knows you two thinks you’re together already?”

“They do? This is news to me?” He turns to Louis for help, but Louis shrugs, looking awkward like he would rather be anywhere else than witnessing this conversation, and Harry watches as he pulls out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans to start looking at something on the screen. Useless prick. Harry faces Kendall again. “I think that’s a bit ridiculous. Just ‘cause my best mate’s gay, that must mean I’m gay too? That we must be a couple?”

She cocks her head and gives him a patronising smile, all teeth and insincerity, and shakes her head at him. “That’s really not it. You two have the weirdest relationship I’ve ever seen. The way you’re all over each other all the time and attached at the hip. Even actual couples aren’t as clingy as you two are.”

Harry’s had enough. Who does this bitch think she is? Like she knows anything about their relationship. She’s only met Louis because Harry deigned to fuck her at their flat a few times and now she thinks because she stayed for a cup of coffee the next morning she can comment on his friendship? Can she fuck. “You know what Kendall? Why don’t you run along and get your drink? It’s nearly midnight after all and we wouldn’t want you getting dehydrated and looking peaky on your next photoshoot.”

Her face twists into a grimace. “Oh fuck off Harry. Don’t get shitty with me because I’ve said what everyone else is thinking.” She turns with a final swoosh of her hair and struts off out the room.

Harry stares after her slightly stunned. “What the hell was that?” He doesn’t get an answer, so he turns his head to Louis and Louis’ still pissing about on his phone. Harry nudges him. “Louis, did you hear all that?”

He doesn’t pause the swiping of his thumb. “Uh… yeah. Weird,” he mutters.

Harry nods in agreement. “Yeah, really fucking weird. Do you think some people seriously think we’re together?”

Louis sighs and moves to lock his phone, sliding it back into his pocket before crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe. We’ve been asked before haven’t we?”

“Yeah, by random strangers. Not people that know us.”

Louis releases a huffy exhale, picking at a mark on his arm. “I don’t know. People get things in their head don’t they? It’s probably because I’m gay, and you have that kind of question mark over you where people wouldn’t be surprised with whatever you said you were. Then there’s that we live in the same flat and we spend a lot of time together. We’re also both naturally tactile with people, particularly with each other. I guess it’s the conclusion that some people have come to, that we’re a couple.”

OK that’s bullshit. “So what are you saying, because I cuddle you and I have long hair and wear a bit of pink occasionally I’m all of sudden shagging blokes?”

Louis sucks his cheeks in, a tic that Harry knows all too well means that Harry’s hit a nerve. “Harry, I really don’t fucking know alright? Are you offended because people think you’re homosexual or something?”

“No Lou. You know it’s not that. M’sorry.” He slings his arm around Louis’ shoulder and pulls him in to his side, sponging a kiss to his temple before glancing back around the room. “I guess I’m a bit shocked that’s all. Does it bother you? People thinking that we’re together?”

When Harry glances down a look comes over Louis’ face that Harry can’t place. “No,” he says after a pause. “We know the truth, so it doesn’t really matter what people think does it? It would only bother me if I thought it would stop someone I was interested in being interested in me, ‘cause they thought I was taken. I mean, I could do a lot worse than you I reckon, so it’s not totally embarrassing or anything.”

“Geez, thanks.” Harry twists Louis’ nipple.

Louis laughs and grabs his hand, attempting to bite it but Harry pulls away before he has a chance. “You’re welcome.”

“I can’t believe no-one’s ever said this to me.” He passes the glass that’s in the hand around Louis’ neck to his free hand and takes a gulp.

“I’d forget about it. It’s really not important.”

“But imagine all the pussy I’ve missed out on because they thought I was shagging you,” he pouts.

Louis pushes him away forcibly so Harry stumbles a bit despite being supported by the sideboard, unsteady on his feet from the booze. “Please don’t say pussy to me.” Harry is about to respond to him but someone, possibly the host Cheska, Harry doesn’t have a clue, announces loudly to the room that there’s to be a fireworks display out the rear of the property for the bells so could everyone make their way through to the balcony in the living-room.

Like cattle, people start to shuffle through, and it turns out that there’s quite a crowd here, Harry having so far only been in the dining room and occasionally the kitchen when he went to fetch drinks from the make shift bar in there. There isn’t remotely enough room for them to all fit onto the balcony but the large glass double doors are big enough, along with the huge windows on either side, for everyone to have a chance to look out, despite the living room being almost full.

Harry and Louis settle into a spot in roughly the middle of the crowd to the right, and he spots Kendall out the corner of his eye over to his left. When she clocks him back, he sees her whispering to the person beside her and they turn round to stare. Fuck sake. It’s Cara. And Cara’s a pretty laidback shag as well. That’s probably not going to happen again if Kendall has her way. Harry checks his watch and sees there’s only a couple of minutes to go. He directs his attention to the front.

 _“_ Decent night for fireworks eh?” he says to Louis who’s standing on his right while he looks out into the clear night sky.

Louis looks very pink all of a sudden, possibly getting worse from the drink and the rising heat from all the bodies crammed into the tiny space. “Yeah. Decent,” he echoes, his demeanour stiff. Is he alright? Maybe it’s too crowded for him, and he’s standing behind a giant now that Harry is paying attention.

“Can you see OK from here Lou?”

“Uh…”

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Louis nods and looks up from under his eyelashes with a simper, a look far too pretty and deceptively innocent for someone like him.

The chant of the final countdown from ten starts. Harry chugs the last of the drink and motions with a wave of his fingers for Louis to do the same. When they are both finished, he takes the empty glass from Louis and bends down to place both of them on the carpet to the side by their feet before standing up straight again. Louis gingerly clutches onto his waist and pulls him in closer, and the action surprises Harry, but he goes with it. He mirrors his own hands on Louis’ hips, glancing round at the back of the heads of the people beside them before returning his gaze to Louis as the three, two, one is shouted out and everyone erupts into choruses of jubilation.

“Happy New Year Haz,” Louis says up at him.

“Happy New Year Lou,” Harry responds, before leaning forward and slotting their mouths together.

It’s lovely. Actually. Really lovely and sweet. He thought Louis might be a bit more timid with it, but their mouths move together in a perfect rhythm with equally perfect pressure for a few seconds and Harry lets his eyes drift closed so he can concentrate on just how lovely and sweet it is. Louis’ lips are a little chapped but the tenacity behind them makes up for it, and the beard doesn’t bother Harry like he worried it might. Harry feels like maybe he should pull away now because it’s carrying on longer than he thought it might but he’s not sure he wants to, so he decides to wait for Louis to do it instead.

Louis doesn’t though, the kiss continues for more and more seconds and Louis simply doesn’t pull away. Perhaps it’s because he can’t as he’s so close to the wall, Harry thinks, but he’d surely give a sign if he wanted to stop if he was feeling trapped? Louis doesn’t feel trapped though, his hands moving to wrap properly around Harry’s middle and press him even closer to his body, Harry’s hands deviating in response up to Louis’ head, one settling on the side of Louis’ neck, the other a little further up, cupping his stubbled cheek. Harry decides to chance it, make a bold gesture, and swipes the tip of his tongue along Louis’ bottom lip, Louis wasting no time in opening up for him with a cathartic moan.

And holy shit. The noise of the room fades away and the blood rushes in Harry’s ears as their tongues spark, licking into each other with graceful aplomb to begin with, quickly becoming cocky determination as Harry shifts them both and fixes Louis properly against the ochre wallpapered brick. He’s snogging his best mate. He’s snogging his best mate and he’s loving every second of it and he’s drawing sounds from Louis that are making Harry feel light headed and his heart knock against his ribcage. This is not how Harry expected this to go in the slightest but he’ll be damned if he’s going to question or stop it. They continue for another minute or so before they get rudely interrupted.

“Get a room boys!” It’s said practically into Harry’s ear, and they both jump with the sound of it. Harry pulls back and turns his head, keeping his hips pinned to Louis’ and his hands where they are on Louis’ face.

“What the fuck do you want Cara?” Harry rolls his eyes at her, Kendall standing behind her and to the side. She leans forward and mutters something into Cara’s ear, causing Cara to laugh, but neither answer him with anything more than a sneer before they walk away together. Harry can feel Louis’ fingers dig into the meat of his lower back but Harry keeps staring after the women, his fingers stroking Louis’ face absentmindedly, as if to comfort him in the absence of dialogue.

“Hey.” Louis tugs on the back of his shirt. “You OK?”

Harry faces him again. Louis’ lips are a touch pinker and fuller, his eyes shiny. “Yeah, I’m fine. Stupid brats the both of them. This party fucking blows. You wanna go back home? There’s a couple’a bottles of wine in the fridge and some Jäger?”

“Sounds perfect,” Louis replies, before stretching to plant another soft kiss on Harry’s lips. It’s only then Harry recognises that they are still tangled up in each other. Strange. Doesn’t feel all that odd, but then Harry and Louis hug all the time, so being in each others space isn’t all that unusual if he thinks about it rationally. He pulls away completely and grabs Louis’ wrist before leading him out the door.

***

They don’t make it to the wine or the Jäger in the end. The two of them end up snogging on their couch with two untouched glasses of Sauvignon Blanc sitting on their coffee table before finally coming up for air and dragging their arses to their own beds at 4am.

It’s somehow the best New Years Harry’s had in long, long time.

***

“Morning sleepy head.”

Harry peels one eye open to find Louis perched on the end of his bed in a plain black t-shirt and joggers. “What time’s it?” he croaks.

“About eleven thirty,” Louis replies with a look of amusement.

Harry buries his face into his pillow and releases a low, rumbling groan. “Lou, thats too early.”

Louis’ hand snakes under the duvet and circles around Harry’s ankle to encourage his attention back on him. “I know bubs. Just wanted to let you know that Liam text me. His shift last night was brutal apparently and over ran and he’s not really up for dinner tonight so he said he’ll see us on Friday for the lads New Years night out when Zayn and Niall get back into town.”

Harry rolls onto his back and stretches his arms above his head with a stifled yawn, fully opening his eyes for the first time, blinking sluggishly while they adjust to the morning light. “That’s fair enough. Can’t imagine being a paramedic on New Years is all that nice. Full of idiots getting over excited and having stupid, drunken accidents.” Harry kind of wants to ask if what he and Louis did last night was a stupid, drunken accident or not but he decides not to. It’s too early for serious discussions of any kind.

“Yeah definitely,” Louis nods. “So do you still want to go out just us two or would you rather order a takeaway and chill in front of the telly?”

Harry shrugs, and reaches over to his beside table and checks his phone. “Up to you. I don’t care what we do as long as I don’t have to go to any shitty parties of your boss or see any of my ex shags.” There’s a few texts and a call from both his mum and sister Gemma but nothing urgent, most likely all New Year messages, so he places his phone back down and returns to his original position.

Louis sucks a lungful of air in dramatically through puckered lips. “Well we’ll need to stay indoors then, because you’ve slept with half of London so nowhere’s safe.”

“Heeeeeey!” Harry whines, kicking his leg out at Louis where he’s still holding it.

“I’m teasing,” he chuckles. “But I do fancy staying in, if that’s OK?”

“Yeah, fine. I’m not getting out of bed for a while though.”

Louis smiles softly. “Is there space in there for me then?” Harry answers by shifting to the side and pulling back the covers, watching as Louis crawls up the bed and settles beside him, pulling the duvet from Harry’s clutch and tucking it in around them both. He rolls over so he’s facing Harry, Harry doing the same so they’re practically nose to nose. Louis rubs his lips together. “So you got any New Years resolutions then Haz?”

Harry snorts. “As if. You know me, don’t see the point in them if I can’t be sure even from day one that I’ll stick to it.”

“Thats sounds like the attitude you have towards romantic relationships.”

“Damn,” Harry breathes out with a frown, “I’m getting it from all sides from you today, aren’t I? Happy fucking New Year to me.”

Louis reaches up to stroke his face for a couple of seconds. “Sorry, sorry. I’ll stop. Love you.”

Harry sighs, never one to be angry at Louis for more than about four seconds. “Love you too. What about you?Any resolutions?”

He pauses, and his face flickers with something like uncertainty before he says, “not really.”

“Not really?”

Louis shakes his head and when he speaks again it’s with more brass. “I mean no.”

“OK.” Harry doesn’t think he’s telling the truth but he decides not to pursue it. He can feel his eyes want to droop with residual tiredness, but he’s promptly woken right back up again by Louis’ lips meeting his own. He retreats an inch. “Uh… what you doing?”

“Nothing really. Fancied a kiss that’s all,” Louis says with a scrunched nose.

“Is that a thing we’re going to do now?”

Louis face falls. “Not if you don’t want to? Just thought it was nice last night. Wasn’t it?”

Shit. It was nice, but this is weird. They’re sober. They’re mates. Do mates kiss soberly? He doesn’t think they do. Harry wants to though. “Sure, yeah, uh… I haven’t brushed my teeth though.”

“That’s OK, I have.” Louis leans forward and brings their mouths together again, quickly encouraging Harry to deepen it with soft murmurs and a hand on his bicep pulling him in.

That’s how they spend most of the rest of the day.


	2. Chapter Two

So kissing Louis becomes a thing. 

Louis and Harry had met when they were eighteen and sixteen respectively. Harry, in fact, met Louis’ younger sister Lottie first. They had attended a small theatre school in London together and while not overly chummy, they were part of the same friendship group and one night Lottie had announced she was having a party at her older brother’s flat. Cue Louis, an architecture student at the time, finding a puking Harry in his toilet at 2 a.m after Harry had drunk far too much White Lightning and the rest, they say, is history.

They became pretty inseparable over the next two years, and when Harry decided that singing and acting wasn’t for him in the long run, that he wanted to be more behind the scenes, he went on to study music journalism at BIMM London, and moved in with Louis at the start of his first term. Harry is well aware he has a lot to thank Louis for over those three years he studied. Louis kept him on the straight and narrow, encouraged him to go the library instead of the pub, to chase contacts and internships rather than girls (well, most of the time, a man has to eat after all), and was his biggest cheerleader when shit got really hard and Harry was close to packing it all in. Harry knows for absolute certainty he never would have got his degree, and therefore his dream job, if it weren’t for Louis Tomlinson.

Fast forward to present day, and Harry now works at one of the biggest music magazines in the country, and spends most of his time at interviews, gigs, and industry parties in preparation to write articles and reviews and he couldn’t be happier. Plus he still lives with Louis, now a fully fledged building designer extraordinaire, and living with your best friend is brilliant because it means your favourite person is always around to have a laugh with, to get drunk with, to play fight with, to have serious chats with, and well, to kiss with apparently.

“Do you think it’s weird that we do this Lou?” Harry asks one night in late January. They’re lying on the sofa with some panel show on in the background and had been snogging for past twenty minutes, arms and legs entangled, before Harry had decided to say something.

Louis peppers Harry’s mouth with little kisses. “Do what?”

“This, the kissing, spending the evenings we’re not out sucking face.” And it’s true. Since New Year’s Day, pretty much every day they’re both home together, they’ll almost always end up have a smooch before bed time. Or after a nap. Or before lunch. Whenever Louis clambers on top of Harry or into his lap really.

Louis pulls back a bit. “Would you rather watch Jimmy Carr take the piss out of everyone?”

“No,” Harry answers quickly, leaning forward to leave another kiss on his lips. “Just wondered what you thought about it.”

Louis strokes up Harry’s arms and places his hands round Harry’s neck, grazing at the soft curls at his nape.“I think it’s kissing, and it’s nice. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

“Yeah, course,” Harry agrees unequivocally. Louis hums and brings their mouths back together.

Thirty seconds later he pulls away again and sighs. “What?”

Harry’s eyes widen. “What? I didn’t say or do anything?”

Louis curls his lip and stares at the ceiling. “I can literally feel you fighting the urge to say something. Just spit it out.”

He’s a little hesitant, but it’s been on his mind for a few days now. “Well… It’s um… We only kiss when we’re alone, and I think that’s maybe because we both know people would find it a bit odd and ask questions, which would sort of indicate that it might, in fact, be a bit weird that we do this.”

Louis must not like that, because his face instantly contorts from content to furious and he pushes off Harry completely and out his grasp, scrambling up from the sofa. “Harry, if you don’t want to do this anymore or you’re feeling funny about it, all you have to do it fucking say so,” he hisses, standing by Harry’s knees and glaring down at him. What bloody landmine did Harry unwittingly stand on?

“I’m not saying that at all,” Harry says as he sits up. “It’s just we haven’t exactly spoken about it and I guess I wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to affect our friendship or anything. I love you, you’re my best mate. I wouldn’t want anything to jeopardise that.” He stretches for Louis’ hand, but Louis pulls it out of reach and crosses his arms.

“Oh for God’s sake Harry, lighten up. Are you worried I’m gonna kiss you so much I’ll fall in love with you and you’ll have to bin me off like one of your little tart hook ups or something?” Fucking hell, where did that come from?

“What the fuck Lou? That’s a bit uncalled for?” Harry pushes himself up off the sofa stands up to his full height.

“Whatever, I’m going to bed,” Louis waves him off and strides away down the hall in a huff before slamming his bedroom door shut behind him.

Harry knows better than to go after him. He’s knows Louis well enough by now that leaving him to cool off is the best option for everyone involved, to wait for Louis to come to him when he’s ready. Harry can’t help feeling pissed off himself though. Does Louis think Harry treats his lovers like expendables? Ignore or hurt their feelings so ruthlessly? Yeah, he’s confident and successful in his sex life and he’s been fortuitous enough to fuck some pretty amazing women, but Harry knows that he’s always forthcoming about the fact he doesn’t want a relationship from the start and if the girl isn’t up for some fun and is looking for something more, he politely declines and moves on to the next. Harry and Louis have joked about his womanising ways in the past, but that’s all it’s ever felt like, a joke. He didn’t think Louis really believed it. It makes Harry’s stomach knot. He vows to bring it up with him once he’s calmed down.

Three days later, when Louis finally speaks to Harry after clearly avoiding him, Harry is so relieved to have Louis’ attention again, that he doesn’t mention anything at all about their previous skirmish, too worried that he’ll cause another argument. Instead, he does exactly what Louis does; pretend it never happened. Harry knows he should probably say something, not let Louis get away with being shitty with him, but he doesn’t because he’s enjoying having Louis happy around him again.

Oh, and yeah, maybe he enjoys the fact they’re kissing again too.

***

Things take a rather surprising turn a couple of weeks later. It’s a random Thursday evening and Harry goes out for a few drinks with some of his old BIMM uni friends including Niall, now a production assistant for a record label, and comes home shortly after midnight. The flat is silent, and he deduces that Louis must still be out with his workmates since that was the last text Harry received from him at tea time and he hadn’t had a ‘when you coming home? I’m bored’ message yet. It’s not really like Louis to drink much before working the next day but Harry knows he’s been stressed about a big project coming together so that he’s out blowing off some steam.

Harry’s not sure what he would class his own inebriation level right now. He’s definitely not sober, but he isn’t drunk. Buzzed maybe? Yeah, buzzed fits. Harry feels buzzed. He likes the word buzzed. Feels good to say it out loud. OK, so he’s standing in the kitchen drinking orange juice straight from the carton with the fridge door open saying the word ‘buzzed’ repeatedly to himself at varying speeds. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.

He finishes the juice off and bins the packaging before walking back to his own room. He hasn’t bothered to put any lights on and he can’t see where he’s going which obviously means he then trips on something on the way through the living room. What the hell? Fucking Louis leaving his trainers out again. Harry picks them up, still cursing him as he trots through to Louis’ bedroom to discard the footwear. When he opens the door, the room is completely dark, save for the light from Louis’ laptop on the bed, highlighting Louis’ ghostly white face from where it’s lying on his lap.

“JESUS WHAT THE FUCK HARRY!?!” Louis screams, his arms flying rapidly to do several things; rip his ear phones out, slam his laptop closed and pull the covers up his naked torso.

“Fuck, sorry. Fuck. I didn’t… Your trainers… I didn’t know you were…” Harry holds them up to Louis, which is stupid because now that the laptop is closed, having taken away any light left, he can’t even see a foot in front of his face, never mind the man across the room.

He hears Louis shuffle around before a lamp is switched on beside him. They both blink at each other slowly while their pulses dwindle back to a reasonable level from the shock. “My trainers? What the hell? I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you would text me.” Louis pats his phone that’s lying on the duvet at his side in demonstration.

“Uh, right, yeah…” Harry walks further into the room.

Louis puts a palm up, it looks oddly a bit wet. “Uh don’t. Don’t come in.”

Harry frowns. “Why not?”

“Just, uh, don’t. Please.” OK, he’s being weird. Why’s Louis being weird? Harry’s eyes roam the room, before landing back on him, taking in all the evidence. Dark room, laptop, earphones, at least a half if not fully naked Louis, damp hand, bottle of lube open on the bed side table. Fuck.

“Were you wanking?”

“Seriously Harry. Fuck off.” Shit he was. Louis was wanking.

Harry feels a pinch in his stomach. “It’s OK, we all do it. What were you watching?” He asks the question before it runs through his mind properly, but once it’s out his mouth, Harry knows he’d liked to hear the answer.

Louis squirms, rearranging the laptop over his groin on top of the covers. Is he still hard? He might still be hard. Harry would like to know about that too. Fuck, he’s definitely still drunk. “Does it matter?” Louis squawks.

Harry shrugs and gives him a faint smile, feeling his heartbeat step up a notch. “I’m curious.” He realises he’s still holding the trainers so he bends down and places them neatly against the wall before standing back up straight. “Show me?”

“Show you…?” Louis’ eyes widen, and his eyes flick down to his laptop, and his covered dick.

“What you were watching,” Harry clarifies, swallowing thickly at the notion of Louis showing him something else.

“Um…” Harry can see Louis’ fighting with himself, deciding whether this is a good idea or not, but whether it’s his head or his heart that wins out, Harry doesn’t know, all he sees is Louis’ head bow in a single, quick nod. Harry reaches down to unzip his boots and toes them off, leaving them in a far more haphazard fashion that he did the trainers, and pads over to the bed.

When he’s settled, lying lazily on top of the covers, he leans in to Louis and gives him a lengthy, closed mouth kiss. He can smell the alcohol on Louis’ breath; wine, and something sweeter possibly. It makes him conscious of his own beer breath, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind, leaning into it himself. When Harry pulls back again, he turns his attention to the matter at hand, nudging his knee into Louis’ side. “Come on then. Show me.” Louis bites his lip, and glances at Harry like he might not be sure about all this, but he opens the laptop back up and clicks on the keyboard, the screen lighting up to reveal a still of a video taking up most of the display, paused at around seven minutes in. Harry reads the title along the bottom out loud. “Soccer captain fucks twink hard in the locker rooms after practice.” There’s a little gold star in the bottom corner of the page, which if Harry is correct in his assumptions, means it’s one that Louis has bookmarked. “One of your favourites yeah?”

Louis coughs and fidgets beside him. Harry can’t tell if it’s because he is uncomfortable or because he’s turned on. “Yeah…,” he releases airily. Mmmm, so it’s the second option. That’s good. Maybe it shouldn’t be to Harry, but it’s good.

“So, which one would you be in this? The twink? You prefer getting fucked than doing the fucking don’t you?” They’ve spoken about sex before. Of course they have, they’re best mates, it’s come up, but they haven’t ever spoken about it in any great detail, mainly because Louis gags over exaggeratedly or runs away at any mention of female anatomy for no other reason than to piss Harry off. Harry’s fairly certain he knows, however, that Louis’ likes to be on the receiving end of things.

“Yeah. Haven’t fucked anyone myself in forever,” he replies slowly, before tapping again on one of the keys and the video springs to life.

The two porn actors are already going at it. Hard. The bigger one, the captain, is almost completely fully dressed in his football uniform, kitted out in a green football jersey, muddy white shorts and knee length socks and black football boots, his sweaty waves of curly, coffee coloured hair held out of his eyes by a matching green head band. The shorts are only just pulled low enough to get his cock out, and Harry can’t be sure, because they’re moving too fast and it’s at the wrong angle at the moment, but the waistband might be tucked up under the bloke’s balls.

The smaller of the two, the aforementioned ‘twink’, is completely naked, not a scrap of anything on him. The captain has him bent over a bench in a typical looking changing room, one of his legs bent and propped up onto it, the other down with his foot on the floor. The captain’s fucking into him rapidly from behind, and he has a hand in his fellow actor’s hair pulling his head back tight, rather grotesquely, like his head might snap off, and the other hand is smacking the guy’s arse every few thrusts, the ink of his tattooed arms blurring with the speed of the movement. The receiver’s hands are gripping onto the sides of the bench in vain, trying his best to keep steady while he gets fucked severely.

There’s no proper sound though, what with Louis’ earphones still plugged in, except the low tinny din escaping through the earpieces down by Louis’ side. They watch in silence for a few seconds before Harry gets impatient and releases a frustrated huff. Louis gets the point and yanks the cord, expelling sound into the room. Harry should have expected it, given what was already showing, but he’s still a little taken aback by the language the actors are using.

“Fucking desperate for it weren’t you kitten? Saw you eyeing me up on the pitch, you filthy little slut. Just begging for my cock weren’t you?” the captain says on the screen, bringing his hand down yet again onto creamy skin, his voice packed with grit.

“Yes, yes, fuck, oh my God,” the other man says in choked sobs as he’s getting drilled.

The captain presses down on the bottom of the guy’s back so his bum gets lifted higher. “God kitten, best arse I’ve ever been in, take cock so well don’t you? Such a gorgeous, tight cunt.” He unleashes a thundering groan of appreciation. “Such a fucking whore. Beg kitten, fucking beg for it or I’ll stop.”

“Please, please don’t stop, need you, need it. Fuck.” He sounds so desperate it’s almost unpleasant. Almost.

Harry can’t help turning to watch Louis’ face. His eyes look glassy, although that could be from the drink, but his mouth is wet and gaping open slightly, cheeks ruddy. His hand is lightly stroking at his thigh down by his side, like he thinks Harry won’t be able to see it from where he’s lying. Harry’s shocked, not by the content, Harry has himself been with a few women that like it on the rougher end of the spectrum, he’s just surprised it’s something Louis is into. He’s heard the odd squeak of the bed and shout of fulfilment through the wall in their time living together, but never anything that would indicate this.

“You like it like this? Rough? Being called a slut and made to beg?” Harry asks him suddenly. Louis’ hand stills and his mouth shuts with a snap, Harry watching his Adam’s apple move coarsely.

“A bit. Sometimes,” is all he says, never taking his eyes off of the laptop.

“I see,” is all Harry says, never taking his eyes off of Louis. Harry was hoping for more, but he doesn’t push it. There’s a long pause as the video continues, but Harry’s not interested in the men on the screen any more, not that he ever really was, he’s far more interested in the man beside him in the flesh. Louis resumes the movements of his hand again, like the action isn’t under his own control, but this time further over, closer to his groin.

“It’s more... uh...” Louis starts after another few seconds, as if he senses that Harry is staring, waiting, even though Louis isn’t looking at him. “I like being controlled. Like, held down, maybe marked up a bit. I do like being made to beg but I like being told how good I am too. How well...” he stutters, sucking in a gasp of air “…well I take it,” he finishes. His voice is a bit shot, and it makes Harry’s dick pulse.

“Mmm,” Harry hums to himself, contemplating the information he’s just received. “Kitten.” He says it lowly, almost to himself, to, you know, see the way it sounds on his lips. The way Louis reacts to it though, it’s nice, so very, very nice, the way Louis’ breath catches in his throat at the sound. “I bet you take it so well kitten.” Harry can tell the whimper that leaves Louis wasn’t meant to be heard, but Harry did, and it sounded so very, fucking nice.

He won’t lie, it flashes through Harry’s mind that this should probably feel unusual. That he’s sitting here watching gay porn with his gay best friend and that he wants said best friend to start touching himself in front of him and that he maybe wants to touch himself too. But, well, he’s drunk and he doesn’t need to think about the consequences right now, he can think about them tomorrow. He only knows what he wants right in this moment.

Harry pushes the laptop over, so it’s not resting on Louis’ groin anymore, but so Louis can still see it beside him if he wants to. Not that he’s looking at it now, of course, what with his eyes being closed how they are. Harry wants to give Louis space, let him know it’s OK if he wants to do something, anything, but he doesn’t want to say it, wants it to be Louis’ decision. And he wants to say more, wants to see if he can use his voice and his words to get Louis to pant maybe, to work him up until he simply has to touch himself, but he doesn’t want to provoke it any further without some sort of sign that Louis wants to take it there himself, so he waits. He can see Louis’ chest rising and falling faster as time moves on and as the sounds coming from the computer escalate towards the final crescendos, Louis must decide that enough is enough, and his hand finally slips under the duvet.

Harry can feel himself harden in his jeans at the sight of the bedspread rising and falling with the motion of Louis’ hand moving underneath, but he’s frozen now, scared any move he makes will somehow disrupt Louis. His eyes drift back up to Louis’ face to gaze at him as he nibbles on his bottom lip. When the actors finally come, Louis’ hand quickens but then slows right back down again, almost to a stop. Louis’ eyes open back up and he looks at the computer with a frown, as if he’s a frustrated it’s over with.

“What do you need kitten?” Harry says. Shit, it just comes out, with no warning to himself. Louis' body twitches, possibly having forgotten Harry was there, or maybe from the shock of hearing a voice again beside him. His eyes roam down to Harry’s bulging crotch, then up his body and to his face, twitching again when he clocks how intensely Harry is looking at him.

He closes his eyes as he mumbles, “want to watch you.”

Harry’s skin heats. “Yeah? Look at me.” He waits until Louis opens his eyes. He’s vaguely aware that Louis’ hand has sped up again. “What do you say?”

Louis exhales, his focus pinned to Harry’s mouth. “Please.”

“Please what?” His tone gentle yet commanding.

“Please, let me watch you. Watch you come.”

Harry reaches out and runs his thumb along Louis’ slick lip before retreating again. “You going to show me too? Show me how well you touch yourself darling?

“Fuck,” Louis bites out.

Harry quickly removes his t-shirt and unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down with his boxers to his knees, his now fully hard cock springing up to towards his belly. He hears Louis gasp, “Jesus,” his voice filled with awe. Louis has seen him naked before, loads of times, Harry is often naked in the house, but he’s never seen him hard, and his reaction makes Harry’s ego bluster. Harry spits in his palm and quickly encircles himself, giving his cock a few quick strokes before he turns his attention back to Louis beside him.

“Your turn kitten.” Louis takes a second or two to react, too engrossed in the what Harry’s doing below his waist, but once he does he pulls the covers down to reveal his naked body. His cock looks a bit angry, flushed red at the top and releasing drops of pre-come, but Louis’ keeping a fairly slow pace with his fingers, occasionally twisting at the crown.

It’s odd, Harry thinks, because when you think of a guy jerking himself off, you might assume they all go about it a similar way, a dick being a dick after all. But Louis’ method and Harry’s are pretty different now that he’s seeing it for the first time. Harry is all about speed, Louis is clearly all about sensation. He plays with his balls more than Harry does, rolling them in his palm while his other hand smooths over his shaft in long, steady but somewhat lethargic strokes. He also doesn’t seem to be using all that much lube, which must mean he deliberately likes the roughness of it, the drag his palm makes. He might be teasing himself, but Harry gets the impression this is how he normally does it. Harry on the other hand, likes it a bit harder, a bit faster, and he’ll occasionally pull a little at a nipple, just for kicks. And he could definitely do with some lube, but he doesn’t want to disturb Louis’ flow by asking him for it or reaching over him to get it himself.

They continue watching and listening to each other for bit, the video now having completely finished, and Louis’ making these soft, dulcet sounds that Harry is falling in love with, quiet mewls that he can’t help expel from his spit-shined lips. Harry’s more of a groaner, and he’s definitely hamming it up because Louis seems to like it, judging by the echoing of pleasure he hears when he does. Harry lets a few more ‘kittens’ and ‘you’re so goods’ out for good measure.

All too soon though, Louis mutters, “I’m gonna come Haz,’ and he does, all over himself, one hand cupping his balls the other squeezing the head of his cock as he shoots his seed all up his front. Harry’s actions slow as he watches in fascination, and he can feel his orgasm brewing steadily as Louis runs a finger through the mess he’s made of himself.

“Kiss me,” Harry pleads, not a thought out decision but what has been since he stepped in the room? The whole thing has been going off his gut and instinct from the get go so why stop here?

Louis doesn’t seem to think about it either before his mouth is on Harry’s and he’s slipping his tongue in neatly to lick into Harry’s mouth. That’s the final straw for Harry and he hits his peak in streams across his stomach and possibly a little on Louis where he is leaning over his chest. His hand slows to a halt and comes up to fist into Louis’ hair to hold him while he kisses him for another minute or two before Louis pushes against him to express his desire to part ways, effectively bursting the bubble they are currently in.

“I need some water and a piss,” Louis slurs when he’s finally free of Harry’s grasp, getting up completely naked and walking to his ensuite bathroom. He pauses when he gets to the door, turning to ask, “you gonna make it to your own bed OK?”

That’s not what Louis’ asking. Louis isn’t actually asking him anything. He’s telling Harry to go to his own bed after they have just watched each other jerk off and come and Harry hasn’t even pulled up his fucking jeans yet. It makes Harry instantly feel like shit, but he gets it. This is not the time or place to have the ‘what did we just do?’ conversation, they can have it in the morning when they’ve slept the remnants of the booze off. So he nods wordlessly at Louis and shimmies his clothing back on while Louis goes and does his business and then he’s back in his own room and crawling into his own bed and he can’t even remember why the hell he was even in Louis’ room in the first place now. Something about being buzzed he thinks but his brain is too frazzled to think about it before he falls asleep.

***

The very next night Harry sleeps with someone else.

He needs the distraction, to get away from the thoughts whizzing around his skull, after waking up to an empty flat and a text from Louis saying he had gone to see his younger siblings up north straight after work and won’t be back until Sunday evening. He panics at first that Louis’ deliberately done a runner but then he remembers that Louis had mentioned going up to Doncaster at the beginning of the week. Harry’s still confused though and he feels like they should’ve talked about it. The kissing is one thing, but this? This is on another level. He doesn’t want Louis to get mad at him though for bringing it up, so until Louis brings it up himself, he needs a distraction, and what better way than by getting someone underneath him. Harry goes through his phone looking for anyone that might fit the bill and makes a couple of calls.

She’s an acquaintance at best, but he’s had sex with her before and she’s pretty decent in the sack; he knows she’s good for sucking him off before he fucks her and she usually doesn’t take too long to come. She also has zero expectations as to what it’ll mean afterwards.

They go out for a couple of drinks beforehand to a wine bar near her flat. There’s not really any need, they both know they’re going back to hers, but Harry isn’t a complete prick, and after they’ve had the small talk about work and what they both last saw in the cinema and the autobiography she’s reading by some has-been reality T.V star, they gulp down the last mouthfuls from their glasses of the bottle of Rioja they’ve shared and jump in a cab. It’s only a five minute ride and ten minutes after that they’re already naked and she’s on her knees while he sits on the end of her lavender coloured bed spread, his fingers tight to her scalp and her hair wrapped around his wrist in a makeshift ponytail while her mouth goes to town.

It’s good, he knew it would be, but as her tongue licks up and down the underside of his shaft, Harry’s mind can’t help wandering. He imagines what another mouth might be like, a mouth that sits below bright blue eyes instead of the smoky grey in front of him now. Would he feel the stubble? What would that be like on his thighs, on his groin? What technique would they use, what demeanour would they portray while taking him all the way down to the back of their throat? He guesses they would be malleable, soft, want to be controlled, allow Harry to fuck their mouth a bit, bring their dainty but slightly calloused hand up to wrap round what they can’t quite manage, showing off their wrist tattoo. Harry bets the sounds they would make would vibrate lowly round his dick and up through his spine and that it would be pretty incredible.

So, yeah, that’s how Harry comes; down her throat thinking of his best friend while he does it, biting hard on his lip so he doesn’t shout out Louis’ name.

Harry eats her out after that. He feels like he has to, possibly unwarranted guilt at her swallowing his seed so well when he was thinking of another bloke and he does like eating pussy, always has. He’s great at it too, thrives on making the person feel good, on getting the positive reaction and knowing he has their undivided attention. There’s also the practical benefit of making sure the girl’s come so she’s sufficiently wet before he fucks her cunt.

By the time Harry has her on her back and his cock is being sucked in by her dripping centre, he’s thinking about Louis again. His eyes are screwed tight and his face is buried in her neck and the ridiculous thing is he isn’t even thinking about what Louis might be like during sex. He’s thinking about when his hair is soft and his eyes are puffy when he first wakes up in the morning and what his skin smells like with his muted cologne and bit of sweat when he curls up into Harry’s side when he comes home from work and the way his eyelashes flutter when he’s tired but determined to finish the episode they’re watching at the end of the night.

She starts moaning in Harry’s ear, about how good Harry is and something that sounds suspiciously like the word ‘Daddy.’ He wants it to stop, so he fucks her harder, but it has the opposite effect and it makes her high pitched voice resonate painfully in his bones and her talons dig into his back, so Harry’s forced to kiss her quiet and hold her wrists down into the mattress with one hand while rubbing quick circles on her clit with the other until her back is arching and she’s gripping him from inside like a vice while she releases. He comes hard into the condom with Louis’ face dancing on the back of his eyelids and he’s pulled out of her, unsheathed and redressed by the time she’s even got her breathe back.

She offers him a drink or a cigarette as she lights one for herself, Harry’s nose wrinkling as a ring of smoke hits his face as she replaces the lighter on the bedside table. Harry tells her thanks but no thanks, that he’s got an early start in the morning but he had a great time as always and to call soon if she fancies it, even though he has every intention of deleting her number as soon as he’s out of this building, before kissing her on the forehead and walking out her front door.

When he gets home to an empty flat, he has a roasting hot shower and takes two sleeping pills with a probably unadvisable three fingers of single malt and falls into bed, wondering what the fuck is happening to him.

***

“How’s Louis?” Niall asks the following weekend. They’re sitting in the pub round the corner from Niall’s flat, waiting for Zayn to come join them when he’s finished at the gallery he works at part time.

Harry raises his eyebrow. “Yeah, he’s good, why?”

“No reason, just haven’t seen him for a few weeks,” Niall replies. Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He feels like that most of the time these last few days.

“Oh right, yeah I guess you haven’t. He’s had stuff on,” Harry says ambiguously. He doesn’t want to give any indication that things might be fractious between him and Louis. They’re not. They’ve been utterly fine since the whole ‘incident’ happened last week, pretty much back to normal, back to snuggling and snogging and being the totally normal buddies they were before. The problem is Harry’s not fine. He’s felt like he’s been walking on eggshells for days and he’s got no-one to talk to about it. Especially Louis, because, as per usual, he’s decided to pretend it never fucking happened.

“Right sure. It’s usually you that’s the one that’s out and about, not him.”

“I know eh? And he’s not even getting paid to party. Ridiculous behaviour,” Harry says in jest. Niall laughs.

“Speaking of out and about…” Niall starts.

“Yeah?”

Niall shifts in his chair and takes a swig from his pint. “Was wondering if you’d be up for a double date sometime soon? There’s a bird at my work I’ve been kinda flirting with but she’s pretty shy. She’s got a mate that works in the department with her that would be right up your street who’s also single, so thought I would suggest us going out all together, you know, to make her feel a bit more relaxed.”

Harry smiles. “And you a bit more relaxed too?” He takes a sip of his drink.

Niall chuckles. “Well, yeah, you know how I can be around someone I really like.” Niall’s cheeks pink up.

“That’s a good idea Nialler, but I’m not really looking to be set up at the moment with anyone.”

He gestures with his hand to say no. “Oh it wouldn’t be a proper set up, it’s more of a wingman mission with a possible shag at the end as a consolation prize.”

“Still, think I’ll have to pass.” Harry takes another mouthful of lager.

Niall pauses his hand midair while lifting his glass to his lips, a look of confusion passing over his face. “Since when have you ever passed up the chance to get laid?”

Harry huffs and sits back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Uh, I do have standards Niall. Could you not make me out to be such a slut please?”

“Sorry, but you know what I mean, you’re not exactly king of the dry spells.” He places his glass back down and wipes his mouth.

Harry shrugs his shoulders. “No, I guess not. But that doesn’t mean I stick it everywhere I can. I really wish everyone would stop treating me like I’m a man whore.”

“Who else has been giving you shit about this? It’s a bit of banter you know?”

Harry shakes his head, not wanting to get into the whole thing, especially as Niall isn’t actually the person he wants to have it out with over that particular subject. “It doesn’t matter. Just forget I said anything. And I suppose I’m feeling like having a self inflicted dry spell for a bit. Until something a bit more special comes along and catches my eye.” He fails to add he’s now acutely aware of how others might be seeing his promiscuous behaviour and their negative feelings about it.

Niall puts his pint down and slaps his own thighs. “Oooh, is Harry Styles finally thinking he might be moving towards the big ‘R’ word?

“The what word?” Harry asks.

Niall looks at him like he’s stupid. “Relationship?”

“No, God no,” he says quickly, “that’s not what I’m saying at all. Just don’t want be sucked into any drama right now.”

“Fair enough. Well if you change your mind let me know.”

Harry nods his head in agreement, despite already having decided that he won’t. “Why not ask Zayn?” he suggests.

“Nah, you know what he’s like, not very good at the old small talk or first impressions is he?” Niall drains the rest of his glass.

“Very true mate. I’ll definitely let you know if I change my mind.”

“Cheers.” He flicks his empty glass in Harry’s direction. “You want another one?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Niall stands and makes his way over to the bar.

The real truth is, Harry doesn’t want to get into anything with someone else until he’s figured out what the hell is going on between him and Louis. He knows that it can happen, having a drunken experiment with someone, or that sometimes your mind might meander to think about people and situations when you’re intimate with another person, but the fact that his mind has been pretty much consumed with Louis for weeks now has thrown him for a loop. So Harry’s decided until he has the lightbulb moment about what it all means and what he plans to do about it, he’s going to just stay out of harms way and keep his dick in his pants.

***

That idea lasts all of three weeks.

Louis’ just finished the dishes from the prawn linguine Harry had cooked them both when he wanders through to the living room and collapses on the sofa beside him. Harry sighs and throws his phone onto the coffee table. 

“What’s up?”

Harry groans. “My boss text me. You know that big music event in Manchester in a couple of weeks I’m going to? He’s text to tell me I’m going with Angie.”

Louis frowns. “Angie? That’s the really bitchy one right?”

“Yeah, exactly. She literally uses every chance she gets to show me up or put me down.” Harry’s been having issues with the woman since he first started. He’s got not idea why, he gets on great with everyone else.

Louis grabs at Harry’s foot from where he’s sitting and gives it a shake. “Aw bubs, you’ve got to show her what you’re made of yeah?”

“I know but that’s easier said than done,” Harry chews on his fingernail.

“Don’t do that. Come on, gimme a cuddle.”

Harry scoots down onto his back while Louis simultaneously crawls along his body and rests the majority of his weight onto Harry’s torso, allowing Harry to bury his face into Louis’ shoulder while he wraps his arms around him and Louis runs his fingers through his hair and scratches his scalp soothingly. “She’s so shitty Lou, she makes me do a bad job because I spend all my energy watching every single thing I say and do around her.” Harry’s words are muffled into Louis’ sweatshirt.

“Hey look at me.” Harry raises his head and Louis is gazing intently down at him. “Who’s the one that’s got the first class degree from university? Who’s the one that was hired as one of the youngest ever features writers at one of the most popular music magazines in the UK? Who’s the one that stays late and starts early, goes to countless boring as hell events and interviews but still does an amazing job on every article and is liked by every person he meets. You. That’s who. Don’t let some dried up has-been who probably doesn’t even know what Spotify is make you think that you’re anything but the best fucking thing in that office OK?”

Harry scoffs. “She’s thirty four, she’s hardly a dried up has-been.”

“That’s not the point to focus on Harold.” He bites at Harry’s shoulder.

Harry squeezes him tighter in appreciation of the pep talk, even though he might struggle to believe most of it. “I know. Thank you. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Louis shuffles around on top of Harry’s body and presses their lips together. It’s tender as their mouths move languidly against each other, and Harry’s hands start stroking Louis’ back. It draws a soft hum from Louis and that in turn makes Harry melt a bit, brushing his tongue along Louis’ seam to encourage him to open up, which he does willingly.

They snog for a few minutes, and Harry’s not overly aware of what his hands are doing, but one them stops the repetitive back and fourth motion on Louis’ spine and comes to rest on Louis’ waist, before playing with the waistband of Louis’ joggers and slipping a couple of fingers underneath, feeling the top of Louis’ arse and the apex of his crack.

Louis pulls back. “What are you doing?”

Harry yanks his hand away. “Uh… M’sorry… Um, don’t really know,” he mumbles. He really _doesn’t_ know what he was doing.

“Were you trying to feel my bare arse?” It’s not said with accusation or annoyance, more with simple general interest.

Harry’s not sure where to look. “No. Um… I mean… maybe? Don’t know.”

“Why?” Again, there isn’t any intensity to Louis’ tone, just question.

“Dunno… Felt like it, I guess. You’ve got a nice arse Lou.” It’s all he can think of to say.

“OK,” Louis says plainly, before he returns his mouth to Harry’s so they can continue where they left off. Harry’s not sure what to make of the reaction.

Harry tries to keeps his hands fairly still after that, but eventually they get a bit restless, his fingers slinking their way under Louis’ sweatshirt to lightly graze at the sinewy, hot skin. Louis doesn’t seem to mind, so Harry assumes he’s in safe territory as he continues his ministrations, until he senses Louis shift. Now, Harry would stop right there again, but strangely enough, Louis moves his body upwards, causing Harry’s fingers to move further down and closer to his arse. Harry doesn’t want to get in trouble, so he sort of ignores it, as much as he can anyway, and continues licking into Louis’ mouth. That’s until he Louis moves again, arching his back and rutting down into Harry. There’s no way Harry can ignore that.

“Lou what are you-” Harry starts when he rears his head back.

Louis nods his head in answer to a question Harry didn’t know he asked. “It’s OK. You can put your hands on me. Want you to.”

Harry’s body warms. “Yeah?”

Louis doesn’t reply, he just goes back to the kissing, so Harry waits a few seconds and then slips one hand under the elasticatedwaistband again and right down until he’s got one of Louis’ ample cheeks fully in his grasp. He squeezes, the resulting whimper from Louis kindling something in Harry’s brain. He brings the other hand down and underneath to join it’s twin and takes ahold of the other cheek. God, Louis really does have a nice arse. There’s people out there that pay a lot of money for their arse to be like this.

Louis begins to rut down again repetitively, and it’s Harry’s turn to moan, encouraging Louis’ rhythm with the pads of his fingers digging into the crease between the bottom of Louis’ bum and the top of his thighs. Harry's going to get hard, he knows he is, and that could spell disaster if he does, so he contemplates stopping this whole thing before it goes too far. That, however, isn’t as easy as it sounds when everything feels as good as it does. Luckily the dilemma ceases to exist a minute later when Louis grinds down and Harry feels it, the unmistakable presence of Louis’ cock firming up against his thigh and the already smouldering embers in Harry’s skull light anew, and he knows there’s no going back now.

“Are you..?” Harry doesn’t know why he says it against Louis’ lips, because of course Louis’ fattening up, they both are, and they both know it, but he needs to hear Louis confirm it, as if Harry might be going crazy.

“Yeah, yeah I am. Can you… get it out?” Louis says, a little breathless.

Is this seriously going to happen? Harry needs to make sure. “What?”

“Your dick, can you get it out?” Louis repeats.

Fucking hell, this is actually happening. “Shit… uh… can you lift up a sec?” Louis does, raising his hips enough that Harry can pull down his cotton shorts, letting his almost fully erect prick out of it’s confines.

Louis looks down between their bodies. “Can I?”

Harry doesn’t have a clue what Louis is asking to do, but he knows he wants him to do it, so he breathes out an affirmative and watches as Louis rearranges himself to straddle Harry’s thighs, propping himself up on one hand beside Harry’s head, then he reaches down with the other and wraps his fingers round the base of Harry’s cock.

“Oh my God Lou.” Louis swipes up, the drag a bit uncomfortable. He must agree, because he lets go and brings his hand back up to his face and spits a couple of times to get it moist and returns it before starting a solid rhythm.

“You feel great Haz.” Louis finally looks up into Harry’s eyes and the endless pools of cool blue somehow stoke the roaring fire in Harry’s head and belly.

“Wanna touch you too,” Harry murmurs. He doesn’t want to, he needs to, the sudden desire all-consuming.

“You do?” Louis sounds genuinely surprised, even with position they’re currently in. Harry gets it. They’re sober right now unlike last time and Harry’s never been with another guy. It must be confusing. But Harry isn’t confused in the slightest right now.

“Yeah I do.” Louis’ grip tightens a smidge. “Fuck.”

“Go on then,” Louis tells him, and Harry wastes no time in pulling down Louis’ joggers enough to get his hand on Louis’ length, already a little shiny with pre-come at the tip. It should probably feel unnatural for him, having another man’s cock in his hand for the first time, but it doesn’t, like, at all, and he instantly tries to replicate that slow, tight cadence that Louis used on himself all those weeks ago, the motion that’s etched into his memory forever.

Harry brings his free hand up to the nape of Louis’ neck and scratches at his hairline before dragging Louis’ head in to reattach their mouths while they jerk each other off. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated and they both huff and squirm a bit over the next few minutes but it’s working to build the tension in Harry’s gut and soon enough, with a last flick of a thumb in his slit, Harry releases all over Louis’ hand, Louis doing the same half a minute later. He collapses on Harry’s chest, Harry wriggling to retract his come soaked fist from between them, before wrapping Louis up in his arms and pressing his lips to Louis’ temple.

“Well that was different.”

Harry chuckles, causing Louis’ body to shake on top of him. “Yeah, it was.”

Louis lifts his head. “You wanna watch another episode of Orange Is The New Black?” What the fuck? Is he seriously doing this again? Soberly? Harry should say something, he needs to man up and ask Louis what the hell is going on. 

“Yeah, I guess.” God, Harry is such a coward.

“Cool, you start it up. I’ll go and get us some tissues for the, you know…” He nudges Harry’s wet hand with his elbow. Harry nods, before Louis pecks his mouth with his own and stands up, pulling his joggers back up and wanders off to the bathroom. Harry sits up on his elbows and stares after him, glancing down at his own limp cock resting against his thigh, then back at Louis’ retreating figure. He sighs and pulls his shorts back on and switches on the T.V while he waits for Louis to return.

Well he guesses that’s that then.


	3. Chapter Three

So getting off with Louis becomes a thing.

It’s not like either of them planned it or anything, at least Harry knows he didn’t. It’s just happens. It doesn’t even happen all that often, but when it does, it’s always Louis that initiates it. Harry tells himself he doesn’t want the responsibility of opening the can of worms any further than he already has, but deep down there’s that added layer that he wants Louis to really want it, even if Harry believes he himself wants it even more, and the only way he’s going to know if that’s the case for sure, is if Louis is the one to kick it off.

The first few times, it’s jerking each other off. It’s quick and relatively clean and fuss free, which is totally fine, great even. Particular highlights include in the shower one morning before work when Louis surprised him, and one night when Harry dragged Louis to a friend’s slam poetry reading that both of them despised and were forced to spice things up in the venue’s toilets. But if he’s being truthful, Harry can usually feel the prickle in his hands to push Louis’ head down ever time they do it, because when they aren’t wanking each other off or simply spending time together in the same way other flatmates and best mates do, he’s jerking himself to the thought of Louis’ mouth around his dick.

After a little over a month, Louis must get itchy too, because one night after a couple of after work pints, Harry returns home to be practically pinned to their front door, and before he can even question if Louis’ feeling alright, his jeans and boxers are round his ankles and his cock is making firm new friends with Louis’ tongue and tonsils right there in their dimly lit hallway.

It’s everything Harry dreamed of and more, so good that he wants to kick himself for not getting Louis to do this years ago, but he’s too busy watching the way Louis’ swollen lips glide smoothly back and forth along his shaft, saliva trickling down his chin and his eyelashes, God, those fucking eyelashes that oscillate every time he deep throats. He was wrong about the moans too. He had imagined he’d feel them in his dick and his spine, sure, but he feels them everywhere, all the way down to his toes, as if Louis’ frequency is tuned into every molecule of Harry’s make up, set to drive him completely wild. When Louis tells Harry he can come on his face, he does just that, coating Louis’ mouth, cheekbones and beautiful eyelashes in his essence.

A month after that, when he’s built up enough courage and enough guilt after Louis’ now regular efforts at oral, Harry tries to do it himself. It’s a fucking mess first time round. He’s had a couple of glasses of wine, Louis too, and although he reckons he deserves an A star for effort, his technique probably gets a middling C at best. Louis is patient though, even with the teeth and the tears and the foreskin and the forgetting that you actually need to fucking breath, and when he finally does come, compelled into jerking himself onto Harry’s bare chest, he pulls Harry up and kisses his tingling lips, telling him that no-one gets it right first time, that practice makes perfect. There’s a reason they call it a job, that’s for sure, Harry thinks to himself.

He perseveres though, and after a few more attempts, he starts to get the hang of it, starts to enjoy it, and the first time Louis comes down Harry’s throat without warning because it happens so fast, his thighs shaking with the sheer magnitude of it, Harry’s grinning up at Louis afterwards like he’s won the lottery, so pleased that he’s made Louis happy. Because that's all Harry wants, is to make Louis happy, keep a smile on his face.

They definitely still don’t talk about it though.

***

“So how’s the love life going then?” Niall asks Harry one night over dinner at a local burger joint. Zayn and Louis are outside while they share a fag and Liam’s popped to the toilet.

“Eh… not much to report to be honest,” Harry says, avoiding his gaze by moving the last vestiges of tomato ketchup around his plate with a stray fry.

Niall scoffs. “Come off it, you must be gagging for it.”

“Not really,” he shrugs.

“Fair enough mate.” Niall takes a swig from his bottle of beer, effectively ending the conversation.

“I’ve been getting off with Louis a bit.” It slips out, Harry’s not really sure why. OK, that’s a lie, he does know. He’s too scared to bring it up with Louis in case he kicks off again like he did with the kissing stuff so he needs to speak to someone else or he’s going to lose his mind. 

Niall splutters his beer with a cough and wipes his mouth with his napkin. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly.” Harry rolls his lips together back and forth a few times, squashing the fry into his plate with his thumb and finally looks up at Niall. Niall’s face is relatively expressionless.

“Since when?” Niall asks gently.

“Dunno, couple of months. It’s not often or anything, it’s like, I dunno, when we get a bit on edge or something,” Harry tells him. He’s not sure if that’s true, but he can’t think of any other way to describe it.

Niall nods and looks away for a few moments as he let’s the information sink in. “What does Louis think about it?” he enquires when he looks back at Harry.

Harry shrugs again. “Dunno really, I mean, he must enjoy it, or we wouldn’t be doing it.”

“You haven’t discussed it?” Niall’s eyebrows make a play for his hair line.

“No, it sort of just happens.” The more this conversation continues the more Harry regrets bringing it up in the first place.

“I see.” Niall pauses again, silence looming over the table. What does he see though? Harry wants to know what he’s thinking, but is possibly too afraid to ask. “Do you like him? Properly?” he says eventually.

Harry looks out the window where he can see Louis laughing at something Zayn must have said, handing back a cigarette between two fingers. Louis stopped smoking a while ago, mainly because he knows Harry isn’t a fan of the smell, but he still has the occasional one. Harry shakes his head and turns to the Irishman. “No, it’s a physical thing,” he tells both Niall and himself.

“So you’re into blokes then?” Jesus, he really is asking all the questions.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. Or maybe? Sorry, I know this probably all sounds a bit fucked up but I can’t really explain it. It’s like a get in, get off, get out type thing, it’s not anything serious or with any real feelings.” Harry takes a long gulp of liquid from his own bottle of beer.

“Right.” Harry can’t be sure if Niall’s buying what he’s keen to sell. “Are you certain Louis feels the same way though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it just messing about for him too? No real feelings?” There’s a hint of something in Niall’s voice now, a heat that wasn’t there before.

Harry sits back in his seat, desperate to get away from the firing line. “Yeah, for sure. He would tell me otherwise, wouldn’t he?” That’s probably not correct. Louis doesn’t tell him anything about it, but he knows Louis would stop it if he felt he needed to. 

Niall turns to look at their friends through the large pane of glass to his right. “Yeah, just like you would tell him if your feelings changed about it,” he says quietly, the flicker of fight gone as quickly as it had arrived. 

“ExactlY,” Harry murmurs at a similar decibel. He doesn’t like that, that hint of inference that his feelings might change or maybe already have, because that would have pretty explosive consequences. He can see Liam walking back to the table. “Please don’t mention this to the others yeah?”

Niall flashes him a kind smile. “Course not pet, your secret’s safe with me.”

***

That following Monday, an alarm reminder had popped up on Harry’s calendar on his phone when he was at work, telling him to book his bi-annual health check up. Louis had put that on there six months previously, and probably had the same reminder on his own calendar. Louis has always been fanatical about health and well being ever since they started living together, and he’s dragged Harry to every single one of his STI screenings because he knows that Harry won’t go unless continually reminded. Harry is an avid fan of safe sex and keeping healthy, but he’s also an avid fan of avoiding all possible tough discussions. But that’s probably quite obvious by now.

Barely thirty minutes pass before he had received a text from Louis asking him if he could make Thursday at 4pm or Friday at 11am. Harry had to laugh. Louis hadn’t even bothered to clarify what he was talking about because he knew perfectly well Harry would get it. Harry went on to check his diary and text him back saying Thursday was better for him, knowing it was easier to go along and get it over with.

So here they are, side by side in a doctor’s office waiting to be taken through one after the other to get their dicks checked. It’s a pretty unusual ritual that they’ve been doing for six years, but Harry supposes there are weirder things they could do as friends. Like suck or jerk each other off, maybe. Oh yeah, Harry forgot about that; this time they have the added bonus of waiting together when they’ve been sexually active with each other. How fun.

Harry’s leg is bouncing up and down and he’s chewing gum noisily between his molars while he pretends to read a Living Etc magazine from two years ago when Louis puts a hand on his knee and whispers, “can you stop doing that? You’re freaking everyone out.”

Harry lowers the magazine harshly into his lap. “Doing what?”

“The tap dance, and the chewing. I know you hate the doctors but it’s important.”

Harry chucks the magazine back onto the table beside him. “It’s not only that.” Louis does nothing but hum in reply. Either he doesn’t care enough to ask Harry to elaborate or he already knows what he would say. Harry is pretty sure it’s option number two, but he quickly checks the time on his phone before slipping it back into the pocket of his jeans and speaking again, keeping his head facing forward in order to prevent him from chickening out half way through if Louis looks at him the wrong way. “It’s different this time, because if something is wrong with either of us, it might effect the other. Since we’ve, you know, been-“

“I know what we’ve been doing Harry,” Louis says rapidly, cutting him off. “I am there for it all, funnily enough.”

Harry chuckles flatly and looks round at Louis, thinking that no, actually, Louis isn’t going to let him chicken out of it this time. “Really? Could have fooled me.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Louis hisses, sitting straighter, eyes darting around the room, probably to check if anyone is listening to them.

Harry keeps his voice low but ensures he enunciates every word. “You pretend like it doesn’t happen Louis and it does. You came down my throat last night in case you’d forgotten.”

Louis puts his palm up. “Shut up. I know that, but this is not the place to have this conversation.” He locks his arms across his chest, as if that would end the discussion.

“When is? Because we're in the comfort and seclusion of our own home on many an occasion and you won’t talk about jack shit then either.” Harry can feel the tension in his body increasing by the second but he needs to say these things, get them out.

Louis whole face screws up in irritation. “OK, fine. What is it you want to say then?

“What?”

“Well you seem hellbent on discussing this so what do you want to say to me? Do you want to stop? Are things too much? Is it making you uncomfortable? Are you freaking out because I’m a bloke? What?” Louis asks, finally looking Harry in the eye.

“No… It’s not… I don’t know,” he flounders. Funnily enough, Harry doesn’t know what to say, now that he’s been allowed to say it. “I suppose I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“OK. Well the page I’m on is that we’re friends, and I feel comfortable with you and trust you enough that we can have some fun and not let it be a big deal.” He lifts his left leg onto his right knee and it starts to bob up and down as he looks round the room again. “You would tell me if you weren’t up for it, wouldn’t you? If you were confused or worried because it’s happening with a guy right?”

Harry nods. “Of course.”

Louis exhales deeply. “Right, so what’s your fucking problem then? Why the constant ‘we need to talk’ drama?”

“Oh come on, it’s hardly constant, there’s no drama. And I don’t want it to stop. I’m cool, I just… I worry that it will affect our friendship.” Harry feels like a broken record but Lou is too important to him to lose over an occasional hand job.

“Super, neither do I. And it won’t affect anything if we don’t want it to. It’s not like you haven’t had a friends with benefits situation before. That’s _all_ you have, in fact, is fuck buddies.”

Here we fucking go again, Harry thinks. “Lou, what is your sudden obsession with me not wanting to be in a relationship? You act like I treat women like shit?”

Louis shoots him a condescending smile. “Well if the shoe fits.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you.”

“Louis Tomlinson?” A nurse calls out from the doorway, and both men whip their heads round at the sound. “Louis? If you would like to follow me please.” Louis gets up and marches over to the woman without so much as a backward glance at Harry. This isn’t over, Harry thinks, that’s for damn sure.

Except it is. Because when Harry comes out of his own appointment, Louis isn’t waiting for him like he usually is, and his phone is switched off when Harry tries to call it. And when Harry gets home, Louis isn’t there either. He doesn’t end up seeing Louis for four days, because as it turns out, he’s pissed off to Doncaster again, only conversing with Harry through pictures of the kids and sending him stupid memes, which Harry obviously replies to because he can’t sleep at night if he doesn’t. This time, Harry is almost one hundred percent certain Louis’ run away on purpose though, so he swears blind to himself that he’ll talk to him as soon as he gets back again.

Harry could never keep his promises to himself though, particularly where Louis is concerned. As soon as he’s back and he’s got him tucked under his arm on the sofa and Louis’ making him giggle with anecdotes of cute things the younger twins said and did over the weekend, he forgets that he’s mad and he basks in Louis’ attention and touch after hankering for it for what feels like forever but was in fact less than a week. He lies to himself too, and he tells himself that later on, once they’ve had dinner and watched a bit of T.V and Louis’ pulled Harry’s cock out of his joggers and sucked him dry, that it’s enough, that it’s the way it’s meant to be and if Louis doesn’t want to talk about it then they don’t have to.

Even a week later, when Louis texts Harry to ask him what his results were, having seemingly received his own, Harry races to tell him that he’s all clear. He stares at the reply he receives, a ‘same here _’_ with a winking face, an aubergine emoji and a tongue emoji. Harry realises that’s the first time Louis has inadvertently brought up what they do with each other in any way, other than the direct initiating of the acts at the time or Harry forcing the issue. It’s bizarre, but it’s kind of enough, because at least it’s something tangible that Harry can hold on to, as pathetic as that probably seems, particularly when he rereads what is essentially a sext about twenty more times that day before going home and getting on his knees for Louis right there in front of the T.V while the football’s on without so much as a syllable uttered.

But it’s not enough. It was never going to be enough. Harry wants more, so much more that it’s all he can think about at the moment. And it turns out Louis does too, just maybe not in exact same way.

***

It’s pretty late when Harry gets home after a gig across town a few nights later, so he’s surprised to see that Louis’ bedroom light is still on and his door’s slightly ajar. Thinking he’s probably fallen asleep whilst reading or something, Harry walks down the hall into the living room, takes off his boots and empties his jean pockets of his keys, wallet and phone before going to the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in three gulps. He rinses the glass, leaving it on the draining board and goes to walk back into the living room to watch some T.V before bed, but now he can hear faint noises coming Louis’ room. He must be watching something on his laptop, Harry thinks, so he goes to investigate.

When he goes to open the door fully, he does it slowly, so as not to frighten Louis if he is indeed engrossed on what’s on the computer screen. He needn’t have bothered though, because the laptop isn’t switched on, it’s on the dresser completely closed, and the sounds that Harry had heard aren’t coming from it, they’re coming from Louis. And they aren’t just any old sounds, they’re moans. They’re carnal mumbles of ecstasy that are seeping from Louis’ mouth why he rides the shit out of what looks like a purple dildo in the middle of his bed.

Louis doesn’t seem to have heard the door open or noticed Harry standing in his doorway, so Harry watches him for a few seconds. He’s got his back almost completely to where Harry is standing, but he’s turned enough that Harry can just about see the suggestive curve of his back, the way it runs so smoothly into his firm, plump arse. He’s crouched on his knees, thighs spread, and it’s hard to see from this angle but it looks like he has one hand under him, supporting the base of the dildo while he ruts up and down the slicked silicone and the other has his fingers stuffed in his mouth, wetting them before he brings them down to what is most definitely his nipple. He looks and sounds shamelessly indecent. Harry is instantly hard.

Harry doesn’t know what to do. They’ve watched each other and got each other off enough now that it’s not all that weird, but this? This to Harry feels too much maybe, too far over the line, even if Harry isn’t sure where that line is anymore. Louis hasn’t seen him, too wrapped up in chasing his high to notice he has a spectator, so Harry could leave and sort himself out in his own room. He doesn’t want to though. Fuck, Harry really wants to take the dildo out, the one that Louis is getting deeper and deeper with every dip of his hips, and replace it with his own throbbing cock.

“Are you going to just stand there and watch or are you going to get over here and fuck me?”

Harry startles at the sound of a voice shattering his thought process. “What?” Maybe he imagined it?

Louis looks over his shoulder, his eyes hooded but sparkling blue, determined. His movements slow but don’t stop completely. “You heard what I said.”

“You want me to fuck you?” It comes out squeaky. This is a dream. Harry must be hallucinating or something.

“Yeah. And you want to fuck me too. Hurry up.” Louis’ voice is that little bit higher, that little bit more raspy, the way it gets when he’s getting himself off, but not so much that he’s about to come. It dawns on Harry that he’s made Louis come so often he now knows the difference.

Harry stumbles from the doorway over to the bed and stands beside it, watching as Louis slows to a halt on the offending toy. Harry rips off his t-shirt and pulls down his jeans and boxers as quickly as he can, socks too, and climbs onto the bed, kneeling directly behind Louis, his cock delighted to be free of it’s tight restrictions.

“Did you hear me come home?” Harry asks. He runs a single finger down Louis’ spine, enjoying the way it makes the him shiver. 

Louis rests his chin on his shoulder, looking up at Harry from under his eyelashes prettily, like he thinks Harry might need that last little push to convince him. He really doesn’t. “Maybe.” He says it in a way that actually means ‘definitely’, which means he knew Harry would hear him, and he planned it. He wanted Harry to fuck him before he even came in the room. Jesus Christ. Well if that’s what he wants, that’s what Louis’ going to get. Big time.

Harry staunchly wraps his hand around Louis’ throat and brings his mouth right up to his ear. “So you planned it kitten? Got yourself all opened up for me didn’t you? But you couldn’t help yourself?” He can feel Louis swallow against his palm, and an imperceptible nod reflecting his agreement. It feels natural to Harry, slipping into this role quickly, the role that he knows Louis gets turned on so much by. He licks a wet stripe up Louis’ cheek, a low thrum resonating his appreciation in his chest, before he lets go and pushes between Louis’ shoulder blades so he’s forced to drop down onto his elbows and knees with a grunt. The dildo’s still in him, half hanging out of his hole and it’s a decent size now that Harry can see it up close, but Harry knows he’s got something that will fill Louis up even more, something a lot more satisfying. “Couldn’t wait for me, had to start fucking yourself with this because you’re so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you?” He presses on the end of the toy so it slides further into Louis, making the boy moan again so much louder than before. Harry gives him a few seconds before lifting his palm and bringing it down hard onto Louis’ right buttock. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” Louis whines.

Harry smacks the left buttock. “Yes what?”

“Yes.” Harry can hear him swallow. “I’m desperate for it.”

He hits him a third time, the resulting echo in the room painful even to his own ears. “Desperate for what?”

Louis whimpers. “For cock. For your cock Haz. Please.”

“Mmm. You did say please, but do you think you can handle it babe?” Harry caresses the reddening marks on Louis’ arse, revelling in the fact that Louis will feel them for hours after they’re finished, might even feel them when he’s sitting at his desk tomorrow, an almost constant reminder of who was here and what they did to him. Harry’s cock blurts a drop of release.

“Yes. Please Harry. Fucking please,” Louis begs, reedy and pathetic and so turned on.

“Course you can. Bet you’ll take my cock so well won’t you kitten?”

“So well. Fuck me. Come on.”

“I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready darling.” Harry is ready, has been since he opened Louis’ bedroom door, has been for months even. Shit, if he’s honest with himself he’s been ready for this since he was sixteen fucking years old, the thought always being in the deep recesses of his mind what it would be like to be with Louis in this way. But fuck if it doesn’t make him harder watching Louis squirm like he is. He holds the base of the toy and slides it out, tossing it somewhere on the bed beside him, before spreading Louis’ cheeks apart to get a proper look. He’s watched Louis finger himself once or twice, but seeing his hole like this, clenching round nothing, and gleaming with lube, ready for him, is something else entirely. He’s forced to let go of Louis and grip himself at the base of his own dick to ward off some of the pressure building in his entire groin.

“I’m gonna fuck you bare kitten. Get your pretty hole soaking wet with my come. You want that don’t you?” Louis groans and spreads his thighs wider in response. Bloody hell, Harry thinks, he’s so willing it’s making Harry delirious. “Mmm. Thought so. Look so gorgeous. Where’s the lube babe?” He trails his fingers down the hot skin of Louis’ spine and spanks him one more time.

Louis yelps and flicks his head to the right, and sure enough, lying on the pillow is the bottle. Harry grabs and opens it, squeezing some into his palm, then some directly onto Louis’ hole and throws the bottle down. He fists his cock until he’s thoroughly covered in the satiny substance then rubs round Louis’ rim with his thumb. Louis twitches.

“You want it hard and fast Lou?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Louis wheezes, his face buried into his crossed forearms.

“Course you do. Can’t wait to be stuffed full and get off.” Harry shuffles forward right up and in-between Louis’ thighs, his cock between his thumb and forefinger, hooking the tip to Louis’ hole and nudging the head inside, releasing a sharp exhale at the tightness of the first rings of muscle he finds before taking a hold of Louis’ hips in his hands. He pushes further in, holding his breath and fighting the resistance that Louis’ walls are putting up, until he’s buried his entire length inside, his balls flush against him. The sounds Louis makes as he does it are a symphony to Harry ears.

“Fucking hell. For someone so greedy for cock you’re tight aren’t you darling? Feel so good around me.” And he does. Louis feels incredible. He’s hot and snug and perfect. Harry kinda doesn’t want to move, wants to stay buried in him for as long as he can so he can bask in this sensation. It’s rare he fucks anyone without a condom and even rarer he fucks anyone’s arse, and the combination of the two is completely uncharted territory, as is sex with a guy. It’s an experience he knows he could only ever have had for the first time with Louis, someone he trusts with with his life, and it’s early days but this could very well be the best sex Harry has ever had. He rakes his fingers through his lengthy mane to push it away from his face and sucks in a hefty mouthful of air to try and settle his pounding heart and thrumming disposition, not wanting for this to be over before it’s even begun.

Louis gets restless with Harry’s inaction, and moves as if he is going to try and fuck himself on Harry’s cock. The idea has merit, watching Louis use Harry to get off would be a sight to behold, but that’s not what Harry wants for right now, so he digs his fingers in to Louis’ flesh and growls. “Thought I told you I was going to fuck you when I’m good and ready?”

Louis starts shaking his head to himself. “Sorry. Sorry Haz, you just,” he pauses as if he needs to collect his thoughts, or swallow the rush of saliva that Harry can hear him gagging on. “You feel fucking massive. You feel so, so good.”

Harry tests him with a sharp thrust. “Just good Lou?”

“Oh God,” he wails, scrambling to fist the bed sheets and reposition himself to take Harry’s strokes better.“Shit. No. Amazing. You feel fucking amazing.”

“Mmmm. That’s what I thought.” He thrusts into him again, harder this time. “You feel amazing too kitten.”

“More. Please.”

Harry obliges, not because Louis asked him too, but because he wants to himself. Wants to fuck Louis as hard as he possibly can. And he does. And it’s brilliant, it really is, the way Louis responds with choruses of want on every firm push in. It’s not enough though. Harry needs more. Fuck. He needs to get in him more. Needs to get deeper. Needs to get so fucking deep into Louis it’s like no-one else has been there before him. He needs to split Louis open end to end so Louis can’t possibly ever forget what it feels like to have Harry inside of him. Holy fucking shit. Harry feels like his whole body is scorching; with desire, with pleasure, with nameless feelings that are making him completely unravel in every sense of the word. He releases his grip from Louis’ sides and leans over, grappling at Louis’ arms to bring them behind his back and hold his wrists together in one hand at the base of his spine, whilst leaning over and fisting into Louis’ hair and shoving his head down into the bed, holding him there while he continues to dick him relentlessly.

It must hurt, the sheer force of it, of Harry pounding into him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever get to do, but Louis revels in the treatment, going by the resulting sobs of encouragement that escape through his gritted teeth while the side of his face is squashed into the mattress. Harry pumps himself in and out of Louis’ core and maintains the tempo until all he can hear is Louis’ choking breaths, not able to speak or moan because it’s all too much for him. Harry’s getting breathless himself, jabbing out a word with a clenched jaw with every snap of his hips. “So.. fucking… good… Lou… so…fucking… perfect.”

Harry continues until he can feel Louis start to tighten around him even further, his walls fluttering gorgeously round Harry’s length with his impending climax. Harry lets go of his head, satisfied Louis will stay put, brushing the sweat-matted hair from his own brow and reaches underneath Louis, quickly finding his cock and wrapping his fist around it to stroke vigorously. “Gonna come for me?… Kitten?… Come on….”

That’s literally all it takes, Louis whimpering as he comes on command all over Harry’s hand, his stomach and the bed beneath him, Harry fucking him through it, still stroking his palm up and down Louis’ prick and draining him of everything he has to give. Harry comes a few thrusts later, unloading into Louis in infinite bursts, seeing stars as his whole body shudders. When pulls out, his spunk leaking from Louis looks magnificent. He has a desire to lick it up onto his tongue, but he settles for dragging his fingers through it roughly and leaving a wet smack on Louis’ arse before Louis collapses flat on the bed and groans.

Harry slumps back on his knees, his bum on his feet and his hands on his thighs, holding himself up while he fights to get all the oxygen he needs to think clearly back in his body. “You alright?” Harry says eventually into the room when he’s just about managed.

Louis lifts his head up groggily so he can look back at Harry. “Yeah, great. You?”

“Yeah good, I’m good.” He’s better than good. That was mind-blowing. But he thinks that it might be awkward saying that out loud. “That was OK wasn’t it? You like it like that don’t you? I mean, like, rougher? And the stuff I was saying?” He can hear the insecurity in his voice, he only hopes Louis can’t, and it would definitely be a case of shutting the stable door after the horse has bolted, but he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t check.

“God, yeah, that was amazing Haz.” Harry breathes a sigh of relief as Louis rolls over. He’s got come on the flushed skin of his front and his eyes are still glassy with tears, hair sticking out in every direction. He looks so, so beautiful. “Thanks though. I really needed that. Had the shittiest day at work.”

Harry frowns. “Oh yeah? How come?”

“Nothing world ending. Just a couple of arsehole clients and Victor was being a total twat about it. But you’re OK yeah? I know that was technically your first time with a guy but figured since we’ve been, you know, you’d be up for it.” Louis reaches out and pets at Harry’s knuckles on the hand nearest to him.

Harry nods enthusiastically, turning his palm over to give Louis the opportunity to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s if he wants to. “Yeah, definitely. Was decent. Best I’ve had in a while.” Louis pulls away.

“Yeah? That’s good. Well I best, uh, get cleaned up. Early start tomorrow.” He gets up shakily, and grabs a towel, making his way over to his bathroom. Harry can’t tell if he’s noticing a limp in Louis’ walk because it’s there or because he wants it to be. Louis pauses and turns when he reaches the ensuite door. “See you in the morning yeah?”

Harry gets up off the bed, bending down to grab his discarded clothing. It’s daily déjà vu with this guy. He’s seen this move from Louis too often before and yeah, they’re friends with benefits, but he’ll be dammed if he’s going to let this pass like this. “Sure, the morning, yeah. Um, bit weird, but could we have a quick kiss, so I don’t feel like such a hooker?”

Louis has the decency to look guilty. “Oh right yeah, course love, sorry, didn’t think.” Louis takes the few steps back and cups Harry's cheek, rising on his tip toes and pressing his lips to Harry’s, Harry quickly slipping his tongue in for a snog. It’s nice, not too over the top, but it settles something in Harry’s gut that would have been there long after he left the room if they hadn’t have kissed. Harry pulls away first.

“Cool, well uh… Sleep well Lou.”

“You too Haz.” Louis turns around and walks away, Harry watching him dumbly as he closes the door behind him, and hears him switch on the shower, before leaving and returning to his own room.


	4. Chapter Four

So having sex with Louis becomes a thing.

It starts off happening only occasionally, when their normal getting off isn’t quite cutting it, and one or both of them needs an extra push to feel fully satisfied. But as the weeks roll on, their shagging goes from an intermittent occurrence to an expected necessity. By mid June, it’s happening almost daily, schedule permitting and Harry slowly cottons on to the fact that the type of sex they end up having is almost solely down to Louis’ mood before it starts.

If Louis is particularly pissed off or agitated at something, even Harry, like that first night it’s fast and rough. And it gets so dirty it’s bordering on obscene, to the stage Harry will spew absolute filth in Louis’ ear, stuff that he didn’t even know he was capable of thinking of, let alone saying out loud, while pining Louis down and fucking him raw until Louis can barely breathe or stand. And Louis loves it, begs for it until he is voice is hoarse. Anyone that saw them in action would think that Harry’s the depraved one, but it’s not, it’s all Louis, getting off on being used and manhandled and told he’s only good for his arse but that he’s the absolute best piece of arse in Greater London. Harry simply gets off on being inside him and giving Louis exactly what he wants.

When Louis’ in a good mood, maybe a bit drunk or full of energy and needs to let off some steam, Harry has very little work to do. He pretty much lies there with a perfect view of the most gorgeous bum he’s ever had the fortune to have his hands on while Louis rides the ever loving shit out of him, bouncing on Harry’s cock until he’s coming all over himself with a yelp.

Harry’s favourite by a mile though, is when Louis is feeling a bit tired or a bit needy. That’s when Harry’s allowed to take his time, working Louis open carefully and concisely with his fingers while he licks and sucks mementos on Louis’ taut skin, before draping his body over him, kissing at his slack, wet mouth and swallowing his pretty huffs and moans while he fucks him leisurely. Louis’ll tug on Harry’s curls as he’s coming, or his nails will dig into Harry’s back or shoulders or arse, so much so that he’ll leave marks that Harry feels and admires for days. Harry can’t get enough of Louis when it’s like that.

The one thing they still don’t do though is talk about it. Not at all. Of course there’s the lead up, the consent bit, the confirmation that they both want it as much as the other does before it properly kicks off. But afterwards? Afterwards there is very little discussion at all. Most of the time they’re back in their own bedrooms before their come has even had a chance to dry properly. Which is unsettling for Harry, because even though they are being as intimate as they ever have been with each other, as intimate as two people can probably get, Harry has never felt further away from Louis in the entire time they have been friends.

The time they spend together not naked dwindles exponentially, to the point where they don’t kiss any more outside the bedroom, and barely talk or snuggle or do anything they used to do, even before the kissing began way back when. It’s not through lack of trying on Harry’s part. He’s desperate for it to return to normal. Or almost normal, because he wants the sex to keep happening. But he also wants it like it was before, where Louis would sit at the kitchen table and chat about his day while Harry cooked them dinner, or where they would spend hours cuddled up, eating takeaway from each other’s laps and watching shit on T.V, while Harry regaled all the industry gossip of celebrities acting like pricks and Louis would tell him all about the projects he’s working on in such detail it would make Harry’s head spin with just how intelligent his best mate is. But they don’t. They sit on the opposite ends of the sofa staring blankly at the screen in silence until a blowjob or a fuck is initiated or one of them gets up and leaves the room. It’s fucking horrible. And yet they still don’t talk about it.

Harry could. He could sit Louis down and ask him why it’s happening, what’s changed between them that could have made it like this and what Harry or maybe both of them can do to try and fix it. But he’s still being a pussy. He’s terrified that if he opens his mouth he’ll make it worse, that if he opens his mouth he’ll get answers to questions he doesn’t want to hear, that if he opens his mouth he will cause Louis to drift even further away from him, that if he opens his God damn mouth he’ll say things he’ll never be able to take back and he’ll lose Louis completely and for good. And Harry simply isn’t prepared to roll that dice, no matter what the potential prize is. So he stays silent. He takes what he can still get from Louis and he just shuts the fuck up.

***

Harry’s lying along the sofa on a Saturday afternoon having not long got up out his bed. He’d been at a launch party the night before for some new manufactured girl group that the world definitely doesn’t need and had got way too pissed when him and a couple of his workmates had moved onto a nightclub afterwards, downing shots until the early morning and stumbling into his bed at 4am. He’s had a shower and something to eat, but he can’t really be arsed moving much today.

He’s not sure where Louis is. He could still be sleeping but that’s unlikely, so he must be out somewhere. Harry thinks about texting to see when he’ll be home, could use the lack of milk in the fridge as an excuse and ask him to pick some up, but he feels like an idiot for even thinking he has to lie to his best mate just to see what he’s up to. There used to be a time where he would just ask. There use to be a time he wouldn’t need to ask because Louis would have told him where he was going before he left the flat.

It’s about half an hour later when he hears the keys in the lock and Harry’s heart lurches.

“You alright?” Louis asks as he enters the living room. He deposits some shopping down by the armchair, and throws himself into the cushions. Looks like clothes and maybe a pair of shoes from the labels on the bags. He’s also had his hair cut. He looks bloody good.

“Yeah not too bad. Bit rough, was out last night for work, but I’ll live. What you been buying then?” Harry sits up and shuffles along the sofa so he’s at the closest end to Louis’ seat.

Louis waves a hand dismissively. “Oh just some bits and pieces.”

“You’re not going to show me?” Louis would always show Harry what he had bought. ‘Not all of us can swan around in skinny jeans and a white t-shirt and look like a rock star Harold, some of us need to work on our outfits’ he’d say, before proceeding to do a show and tell with every single thing he bought that day, most of the time trying them on and ask Harry if his arse looked good. Come on, like Louis’ arse ever doesn’t look good.

“Urgh, OK,” he huffs, pulling the bags from the side of the chair to sit in front of him. “So, got some new jeans as mine are getting a bit worn,” he says as he pulls out a stonewash pair and black pair of what must be his regular style, not bothering to unfold them before placing them neatly on the arm rest. “Then I went a bit crazy in Fred Perry. I got some trainers which I won’t bother getting out, but I got these,” he opens another bag and retrieves a deep royal blue polo and a green and white patterned polo, holding them up one after the other for Harry to look at.

“I really like the blue one, that colour suits you,” Harry tells him.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, brow raised as he folds them back up one after the other and places them on top of the jeans. Harry nods. “Got this jacket.” He holds up a brown cord Harrington jacket with red tartan lining.

“Yeah, that’s smart.”

He places the jacket with the other items and opens a different bag. “And finally I got this jumper. And yes, I know, it’s not jumper season, but I liked the colour and it feels so soft, think it could be light enough to wear on cooler summer nights you know?” He holds the pale grey item out for Harry to feel between his fingertips. Louis’ right, it’s extremely soft. Louis would feel soft in it, Harry knows, soft and cozy. “And that’s about it really.”

Harry smiles. “Nice. You did well. Plus you got a hair cut.”

Harry watches as Louis puts his purchases back all together in one of the bigger bags, and puts it down beside his leg and sits back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, it’s a bit shorter than I normally go for though eh? But thought I should make a bit of an effort.”

“An effort?”

Louis scratches at his jaw. “Uh, yeah, I’m going out tonight for dinner.”

“Who with?” Harry asks. Louis usually spends Saturdays with Harry or the lads or his family.

“This guy, um, Joel.” Joel… Joel… Harry doesn’t know a Joel. That means Louis doesn’t know a Joel, because he surely would have heard about him by now if Louis did. It can only mean one thing.

Harry tries his hardest to keep his expression neutral. “You’re going on a date?”

“Kind of, yeah,” Louis nods subtly.

Fuck no. “Oh. How’d you meet?”

Louis fiddles with the strap of his watch, not looking at Harry. “Bit corny, he grabbed my coffee in Starbucks and wrote his number on it before I had the chance to pick it up from the counter. Been texting him for a couple of weeks.”

Bile rises in Harry’s throat. If Louis’ been texting this guy for a couple of weeks, it means some, if not all the times where Louis was distracted and fucking around on his phone recently, before or after he was literally fucking around with Harry, he was flirting and setting up a date with another guy. Is this why he’s been distancing himself even more than normal recently? Harry splutters out a cough to cover the acid reflux. “That’s. That’s cool Lou. Hope it goes well.”

If Louis senses Harry’s discomfort, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Yeah, we’ll see. He’s not all that funny over text, and you know I like funny. But he’s cute and seems pretty interesting.”

‘I’m funny!’ Harry wants to scream, ‘you think I’m hilarious, and you think I’m cute and very interesting, you don’t need Joel, you have me!’ But he simply nods and gets up of the sofa to stand, kind of looming over Louis who is still in the chair. It’s sick, but it makes him feel a tiny bit better to be bigger than him and looking down, like he might have managed to scrape back an iota of the advantage after being thoroughly blindsided. “Well let me know how it goes. I’m gonna go make a cup of tea, you want anything?”

“No, cheers, I need to go get ready, I’ve got to catch the tube to Clapham. Might wear the blue top, since you think it’s a good colour on me. And the brown jacket. What do you think?” Jesus fucking Christ, talk about rubbing salt in the wound.

“That’ll look great,” Harry replies, already moving out the room.

***

Harry gets really, really drunk that night. To the point where he has to be carried by Niall up to Niall’s flat where he passes out on the sofa.

As soon as Louis leaves to go on his ‘thing’ (that’s all Harry will let it be referred to as, even if it’s just to himself), Harry gets dressed, grabs his keys, phone and wallet, and walks out the door. He doesn’t have a place in mind when he leaves, all he knows is that he can’t sit in their flat and wait for Louis to come home, or worse, wait for him to not come home. So he walks.

Eventually he comes to a bar he vaguely recognises from being there about a year before with Zayn, which suits his needs perfectly; it’s somewhere he kind of knows but it isn’t associated with Louis. He plonks himself down on a stool at the end of the bar and orders a large red wine and a double whisky on ice.

He avoids eye contact with most people, but Harry looks like Harry and it’s a busy Saturday night, so he does get a couple of women sidling up to him and trying their luck, a third doing the whole ‘my friend over there thinks you’re really cute’ spiel that Harry thought only girls in high school do. He thinks about it, every time it happens, because they’re attractive and he’s getting drunker by the hour and he could use a warm body under him to make him forget about the warm one that’s not, the one that’s possibly under Joel right now, but he doesn’t, because he’s been down that road before and he knows he’ll never forgive himself if he did.

When a guy approaches him however, it’s a different story. It’s happened before in his life, guys coming up to him to flirt and try their luck, and he’s always been flattered but never interested, but this guy, well, this guy looks a bit like Louis. He’s got the height, and the facial hair, and a few tattoos on his arms where his shirt sleeves have been rolled up, so Harry thinks screw it, and he lets him sit down beside him and chat him up. They make small talk, and Harry is pretty wankered by this point so couldn’t tell you anything about what the bloke is saying, or even what his name is, but he stumbles through the conversation anyway until the guy puts a hand on Harry’s knee and whispers in his ear asking if he wants to get out of here. Harry nods foolishly and pays his bar tab while wincing at the total, before slumping off the stool, following the man out the front door and into the cooling night air.

They jump in a cab, and soon enough they’re kissing. It’s not good though, it’s not like Louis does it. Louis allows Harry to run things when they kiss, set the pace, always, but this guy is fighting to be in charge and Harry isn’t sure he likes that, but he goes with it anyway because he all he wants is to feel something that doesn’t resemble utter misery.

When they get to the bloke’s flat, Harry quite literally falls out the taxi. He gets helped up and pulled up some steps and through some doors and then he’s sitting on a sofa with a glass of water in his trembling fist, chapped lips mouthing at his neck and a hand stroking his inner thigh. He closes his eyes and sips the cool liquid, wishing with everything he has in him that Louis isn’t doing the exact same thing to Joel right now. The now almost empty tumbler gets removed from his grasp and placed on the coffee table in front of him with a clunk and Harry gets pushed down until he’s lying on his back. Within seconds he’s got handfuls of a skinny arse and a strong tongue licking into his mouth and muddy brown eyes looking into his cloudy green ones and it’s wrong, it’s all so fucking wrong and he needs to get out of here now.

“I can’t, I can’t do this,” Harry says pushing the guy off of him.

The guy falls back onto the end of the sofa. “What the fuck? You were up for it a minute ago?” The man starts crawling back along Harry’s body. “Look, it’s OK if you haven’t done this much before, I’ll be gentle. You want me to suck you off first?” He fingers the zip of Harry’s jeans.

“No. I really… I want to go. Please. I’m sorry. You’re not him.” The man stills then backs away, giving Harry space to breath and looks up at him with questioning stare.

“I’m not who?”

Harry shakes his head, feeling the tears start to burn in the back of his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Look, if you’re trying to get over an ex or something, I’m more than happy to help,” he smirks. It turns Harry’s stomach.

Harry squeezes his eyelids tightly shut. “He’s not my ex. He’s my best friend. He’s my whole world,” he whispers into the ether.

That seems to put a final kibosh on the guy’s advances, Harry opening his eyes again to watch him rise off of him and from the sofa, holding a hand out to help Harry up too. “Shit, and you’re in love with him?”

“Yeah,” is all Harry says when he is standing fully upright.

The man nods in understanding. “And he doesn’t feel the same way?”

“I thought he might. But… he’s with Joel.”

He doesn’t ask who Joel is, it doesn’t really matter. The point is he’s not with Harry. “I see. Well for what it’s worth, your best mate is an idiot.” He reaches up to wipe away the tear running down one of Harry’s cheeks with his thumb and kisses the other softly. “Best get you home then, want me to call you a cab?”

Harry shakes his head, the last place he wants to go is home, but he doesn’t tell the guy that. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have, you know, come back here with you.”

The guy shrugs. “Shit happens. I’m just glad we stopped when we did. Wouldn’t want to do anything you regretted afterwards.”

Harry already regrets it now, having come here with him, but there’s little point in dragging this out any further or making the guy feel worse. He gets walked to the door and a friendly slap on the back goodbye before he’s back out onto the street alone. He’s not a hundred percent sure where he is, but he manages to find another drinking venue fairly quickly and gets passed the door staff with no issues, ordering yet another double whisky when he gets to the bar.

He doesn’t remember much after that.

***

“Wakey, wakey, rise and shine!” Niall shouts straight into Harry’s ear, yanking him out of his slumber.

“Fucking hell Niall,” he grunts, his voice filled with gravel, “what the fuck was that for?”

“That was for dragging me out my bed at two in the morning to come pick your drunk arse up.” He shoves Harry over on the sofa so he can sit down beside him, before handing him one of the two plates he was holding in one hand. It’s got a bacon roll on it. “So you want to tell me why I’m getting calls from random bartenders on your phone in the middle of the night asking me to come rescue you?” Niall asks round a mouthful of food.

“Sorry mate. Was out with a friend and he hooked up with some girl and left me. Guess I was too drunk by then and decided to carry on by myself, took it too far,” Harry lies, ripping a chunk out of the bread with his teeth and chewing.

“The girl said you were rambling something about not telling Louis?”

Harry’s chewing slows, before he’s swallowing roughly. “Dunno. Guess I didn’t want to call him, since he was on a thing. With a guy.”

“You mean a date? With who?” Niall sounds surprised.

“Joel.” Yes. Joel. Evil, horrible, nasty, unfunny as fuck but cute and pretty interesting Joel.

Niall releases an ambiguous hum of consideration. “Must be a new one. Guess that’s why you didn’t want to go back to yours, in case Louis was getting fired into when you got there,” he laughs.

A wave of nausea hits Harry like a tsunami. He drops the rest of the roll on the plate and practically throws the plate into Niall’s lap before launching himself from the sofa and running to the bathroom, where he manages to get to the toilet bowl before his stomach is emptying itself, convulsing until there is nothing left to get rid of.

Once he’s sure there is nothing to come back up, and he’s splashed water on his face and rinsed his mouth of mouthwash from Niall’s bathroom cabinet, he drifts back into the living room. Niall’s got the T.V on, football highlights by the look of it, and he turns to Harry once he’s back in his place. “I’d ask if you were alright but I’m guessing from the sounds coming from the bathroom you aren’t.”

“Yeah, sorry, just hit me. Think I’ll be OK now,” Harry tells him, rubbing his own stomach soothingly.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.” He’s not sure at all. Harry doesn’t think he’ll be OK with the thought of Louis being with another guy ever again, not when he loves him as much as he does. Holy shit. What a way to figure out you’re in love with your best friend.

As if Niall can read his mind, he asks the inevitable question. “Are you and Louis still, you know, messing about occasionally?”

“No,” Harry says, “the messing about is over with.” That isn’t a lie. It is over with, because it’s so much more than that now. It’s morphed into a whole different beast, and Harry doesn’t have ahold of the reigns on it, not that ever had, except he’s not sure Louis does either anymore. But he’s definitely not messing about now. Harry is in love with Louis. He’s decidedly unmessy in that realisation.

“You still look a bit pale. Let me grab you some water and paracetamol.” Niall pats Harry’s thigh and pushes himself up off the sofa and heads to the kitchen.

“Thanks Nialler.”

***

He finally plucks up enough courage and goes home at 5 p.m that evening, his stomach full of dread instead of nausea now, painfully clunking like dirty trainers in a washing machine. When he opens the door, he hears the T.V on in the living room but he heads straight for a shower and some clean clothes, only entering the communal area when he’s semi presentable and feeling a little less like death warmed up.

“Got so bad you’re doing the walk of shame at this time of night then?” Louis asks him from where he’s curled up on the sofa in a hoodie and joggers. He must be roasting with the summer heat. Harry wants to feel how toasty his skin is, bury his face in Louis’ clammy neck and breathe him in.

“Nah, got drunk and crashed at Niall’s.” He hesitates on where to sit, but chooses the sofa as well, keeping some space between him and Louis. “What you watching?”

Louis replies, not taking his eyes off the telly, “Brooklyn Nine-Nine.”

“Cool. So uh… how was last night?” Harry asks. He needs to know, because even though it’s going to hurt like a bitch to hear it went well, the not knowing will hurt infinitely more.

Louis turns to face him and gives him a one sided smile. “Aw bit of a dud actually. Didn’t have all that much in common and wasn’t really feeling it.” Relief washes over Harry at Louis’ words.

“So you’re not going to see him again?” Harry fights to disguise the hope in his voice.

“Nah, he’s not going to sweep me off my feet. Guess you’re still stuck with me as a flat mate for the time being,” Louis tells him, moving to snuggle into Harry’s side and curl up even further. Harry puts his arm around him and rubs up and down Louis’ bicep. “Plenty more fish in the sea and all that,” Louis continues. “You wanna get a takeaway? I’m starving.”

“Sure,” Harry responds.

Harry wants to tell him that there isn’t for him, that there is only one fish and that’s Louis and that he would swim a fucking ocean for him if Louis asked him to. But he doesn’t. Instead he orders a pizza and eats it with him while their legs are intertwined watching Adam Samberg and then he takes him to bed and spreads him out and fucks him until they’re both boneless because he simply can’t help himself. And just like before, just like time after time after time, Harry doesn’t say a single thing. He keeps his mouth shut.

Until he doesn’t.


	5. Chapter Five

So being in love with Louis becomes a thing.

They’re boyfriends now. Louis doesn’t _technically_ know that they’re boyfriends, but they are, at least to Harry, and Harry’s pretty sure they would be to anyone else that saw them together. He’s started thinking that they have, in fact, been boyfriends for years in practice, like most people suspected, only neither of them has ever properly acknowledged it. Since that day, the day after Joel, things between them have been so much better. Harry’s not totally sure why and he’s definitely too afraid to ask. He would like to think that it’s because Louis’ realised that Harry is the best thing for him but he knows that’s probably unlikely at this point, however he’s not going question it any further, he’s just delighted things have actually improved.

They have sex a bit less often, but the kissing and cuddling has increased back to closer to what it was before, which Harry prefers, and they even go on what you could class as dates. Louis might not hold his hand to and from the cinema, but he buys Harry’s ticket and popcorn and let’s them have a cheeky snog in the second to last row, the first time since New Years that they have done so in public. And he might not play footsie with Harry in the restaurant the following week, but he’ll eat mouthfuls of food off Harry’s fork with a smirk and a deliberate moan that makes Harry’s jeans tighten. And he definitely links arms with Harry in the park when they stroll back from having a couple of afternoon pints at the pub before letting Harry eat him out for the first time until he’s coming with tears streaming down his face. Harry knows they’re treating each other like they are a full-blown couple, the only difference being the awkward point that they aren’t officially in a relationship and they probably never will be at this rate if Harry doesn’t build up the fortitude to bloody well say something.

But it’s all going fine, things are good and Harry is as happy as he can be, given the situation and his total lack of balls, but then the end of July hits along with a mini heatwave, and like the soaring temperatures in the streets of London, the situation in the flat reaches boiling point and everything Harry knows, everything Harry has ever believed in, explodes in his pretty, little face.

He’s in their kitchen, cooking dinner for both Louis and himself before he has to head out to a gig later on that evening when he hears the front door open and close. Correction. He hears the front door open and then slam shut with a severe thud, so hard that the contents of the cupboards in the kitchen rattle. Footsteps thunder into the room behind him.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” Louis shouts.

“Sorry, what?” Harry turns the gas hob off and puts the spatula he was using with the vegetables for their stir-fry down, turning to face him.

“Did you tell Zayn not to set me up with a guy at his work?” His face is red and blotchy with anger.

Shit. Harry didn’t think Louis would find out about that. “Uh, sort of?”

“What do you mean ‘sort of’?” Louis asks him while he aggressively rips off his tie and undoes the top two buttons of his shirt.

“He asked if you were seeing anyone and I said I didn’t think so and then he told me he was going to try and set you up with this guy Sam but I’ve met Sam and he’s a bit of an arsehole and not your type so I suggested that he not bother.” That’s completely accurate, Sam _is_ an arsehole. The fact that Louis shouldn’t be with anyone other than Harry is simply a coincidence.

“Harry,” Louis replies sternly, “that’s not your decision to make.”

He takes a step closer to where Louis is standing. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You sure about that?” Louis raises his eyebrow.

“Uh yeah?”

“Because it seems to me you want to keep me all to yourself. You got funny when I went on that date a while back and now this. I’m not yours you know? We’re not together. We’re just friends.” He doesn’t know how Louis can say that so genuinely with a straight face but hearing it hurts Harry more than he thought it would.

Harry looks at the floor. “I know that you’re not mine, I just thought-"

“You just thought you’d keep me on a fucking leash until you found something better. Or that you’d keep me around so you can have sex on tap without the hassle of actually having to date anyone, you know, actually having to put in some fucking effort for once.” He says, his face twisted in rage.

“No, not at all Louis. Jesus, of course not. I would _never_ use you like that. And I do make an effort with you, all I do is try to make an effort with you when you let me.” Harry looks over at the food he was preparing for them, around at the kitchen he’s not long cleaned because Louis never does, at the washing machine that’s about to finish a load of Louis’ laundry that Harry was planning to put out to dry as soon as they had finished eating. All he does is try and take care of Louis, to put effort in.

“This has got to stop.”

Harry’s head whips round to face him again. “What has?”

“This. Me and you, what’s going on between us. The kissing, the sex, everything that’s been happening. It can’t continue. I think we should spend time apart for a while. I think I should move out,” Louis rushes out, each sentence a harsh blow to Harry’s insides.

No. Just. Just no.

Harry shakes his head vigorously, taking another step towards him. “Move out? You don’t need to move out? If you want to stop the other stuff that’s fine but you don’t need to move out?” He can hear the question in his words, and he’s frustrated with himself because that shouldn’t be the case. He shouldn’t be giving Louis the option, because Louis needs to stay exactly where he is. No question about it.

Louis’ shoulders sag and he shakes his head like he can’t believe Harry can be that dumb, his fury having now dissipated, replaced instead with pity. Harry isn’t sure but he thinks he might have preferred the anger. “Harry, we’ve opened Pandora’s box and there’s no way we can close it again. Not while we’re under the same roof. I’m going to go pack some stuff and stay with my sister for a few days until I sort something more permanent out.” Louis turns and walks out the room. Harry feels his legs moving as he follows but he’s not convinced it’s a conscious action.

“What? You’re going to leave now? You can’t.”

“Why not?” Louis says over his shoulder as he enters into his own bedroom.

Harry comes to stand in the doorway, watching Louis move across the carpet to open his wardrobe and pull out a small suitcase. This cannot be fucking happening. He’s got to stop it. Now. “Because I love you. You have to stay.”

Louis places the suitcase on the bed and opens it up. “I love you too but this is toxic for both of us.”

Harry takes a step into the room, so he’s standing at the foot of the bed, Louis turning back to the wardrobe to start pulling pieces of clothing off hangers and throwing them in his luggage. “No, I mean I really love you, I’m in love with you, properly, for real.”

“No you aren’t.” Louis says matter-of-factly, not even looking at up from where he is trying to flatten a pair of shoes along the bottom of the case.

“I am. I swear to you Louis. I love you. Please don’t leave me.” Harry reaches out and places a hand on Louis’ shoulder, to try and get Louis to look at him properly, but he gets shaken off, Harry shrinking back in on himself like a wounded animal.

Louis doesn’t stop packing while he continues to speak.“You’re not in love with me Haz, you’re in love with the idea of me. That I’m always going to be here with you and nothing will have to really change and you can plod along with your life happy as a pig in shit because you’ll never have to try that hard to make a real relationship work.”

“That’s not true. Is that how little you think of me? That I’d lie to you about my feelings for you to get you to stay?”

Louis sighs. “I don’t think you’re lying to me, but I do think you’re confused about what’s going on here. And when we’ve had time apart you’ll see things clearly too, like I do.” He starts opening the drawers in his dresser and frantically pulling out underwear and then some toiletries, dumping them on top of the now packed clothes.

“I won’t. I don’t want time apart, I want you. Only you. Please Lou. I’m begging you don’t do this to me. To us.” Harry’s arms are wrapped tightly round his own body, there’s tears rolling down his cheeks now and his words are coming out feeble and wet. He’d cringe if he saw himself and how pathetic he must look and sound, but it doesn’t matter. Louis is breaking his heart and he doesn’t seem to believe or care that he’s doing it. He won’t even look at Harry while he sticks the knife in for God’s sake.

There’s a long pause and when he speaks again, his tone is far more subdued. “I’m sorry Harry, for everything that’s happened. I know that I should have stopped things before they got this far but I guess I was wrapped up in the thrill of it all. We both were.” Louis sniffs, like he might be trying to stop himself from breaking down too, and shakes his head at the floor. He takes a deep breath and releases it shakily while he rearranges a couple of items before closing and locking the suitcase. Harry watches helplessly as Louis turns his attention to putting his laptop and various chargers in a small hold-all. When he finally stops and looks up at Harry, the tears have broken through and are falling down Louis’ face. “Bubs, this is for your own good, for mine too. I promise. Neither of us will ever be able to move on with our lives and have a proper, healthy relationship if we both have one foot in this weird place we’ve found ourselves in.”

“Louis, fucking listen to me,” Harry begs through his sobs, his hand coming up to wipe the snot from his nose clumsily with the back of his wrist. “You’ve got this so wrong. I should have told you before now and I was stupid not to but I was scared, terrified you would leave me like you are now if I told you how I felt. But I love you, I love you with my whole being. Don’t fucking do this. Please. Lou I love you. And I know you love me too. You do Louis. I’m begging you, stop and think about this.” He moves to where Louis is zipping up the bag in front of him and paws at his face and shoulders, trying to bring him closer, trying to kiss him, desperately, reasoning that maybe if he can get their lips together, if he can pour even just a grain of his endless love into it, that maybe then Louis might get that it’s meant to be, that they’re supposed to be together and that he might know then that Harry is telling the truth. If Harry can just get a hold of him properly, wrap him in his arms, Louis might understand that that’s where he belongs. But Louis holds on to Harry’s wrists and presses them firmly to Harry’s chest.

“Haz, you need to stop,” he blubbers. “Please darling. I love you but me leaving is the only way we have a chance at saving our friendship. You’re going to see that soon enough OK?” He kisses Harry’s forehead. “I need to go but I’ll call you in a few days and arrange to collect the rest of my stuff.” Louis let’s go of Harry’s wrists, pausing to wipe the tears away from Harry’s face briefly before wiping his own and reaching down to pick up the two bags and walk out the room without another word. Harry doesn’t follow, he can’t, he’s on his knees now, having collapsed into a broken heap of flesh and bone on Louis’ bedroom floor while he continue to weep, his heart fracturing and splintering into fragments that pierce every other part of him, reeking irreparable damage to his body, mind and soul. He doesn’t think the pain can get any worse.

***

The first few days after Louis left weren’t actually all that bad, but that was because Harry was in complete, textbook denial. He cried himself to sleep in Louis’ sheets that first night, but when he woke the next morning, he got up and he shook himself off and went to work, knowing that Louis would come back to the flat that night with his tail between his legs and apologise for overreacting and being an idiot and tell Harry he feels the same way as Harry does and they would live happily ever after. After he got a bollocking from his boss about missing the gig the night before, he had text Louis to say that he’d be back at the flat at 5 p.m sharp and they could sit down and talk about everything properly, but he doesn’t get a reply. He tries to call him at 7.45 p.m that night and the number rings out. The texts he sends over the next four days go unanswered, the calls straight to voicemail. But Harry still feels fine about it. Louis needs to let off some steam, and he’ll be back, he always comes back to Harry in the end.

When Lottie turns up to collect the rest of Louis’ belongings, that’s when it finally clicks that things might not actually be alright.

“Why didn’t Louis come himself?” Harry asks her as she drags two large suitcases through the front door having let herself in with Louis’ key.

Lottie passes him and walks into the living room to stop, placing the luggage down and turning back to where Harry has joined her. “Um… I think he was worried it would turn into a fight.”

Harry scowls. “I don’t want to fight with him Lotts, I love him. He needs to come home to me.”

She turns and bends down to one of the cases. “I don’t know what to tell you Harry,” she says as she opens it up to reveal some flatpack boxes hidden inside.

“Tell me why he’s doing this to us?” he says to her back.

She stands up again and looks at him in confusion. “Haz, you know you aren’t together right? You were never together. You’re just friends?” If he hears that one more time from a Tomlinson this week he’s going to scream.

“Did he tell you everything? Did he tell you what’s been going on?”

She nods her head.

“So you know we’ve been having sex then?” Her face gives nothing away. “I’m sorry you have to hear this about your brother Lottie, and I don’t know exactly what he’s told you and to what extent, but we’ve been kissing and making love and basically living as a couple for months, years even, and he can deny it all he wants but he knows it means something.”

She sighs and closes here eyes for a long moment, shaking her head in disagreement. “You haven’t been making love Harry. You’ve been scratching an itch that should’ve been left alone.” How the fuck would she know? She hasn’t been here. She hasn’t been in it like Harry and Louis have.

Harry can feel his fists clench at his side in frustration, his painted nails digging into his palms until it hurts. “Did he tell you that? Are those his words or yours?”

“Does it matter?” Lottie answers his question with a question, infuriating him further. 

“Of course it fucking matters All this fucking matters,” he stresses, tugging a hand harshly through his knotted hair, “I’m in love with him and he’s stomped all over me and what we have together, what we could have had, and I don’t know why.”

“He told you why.”

“Did he fuck. He sprouted some crap about us not being able to ‘move on’, whatever that’s supposed to mean, and protecting our friendship, but that’s bullshit ‘cause we love each other, so what he’s doing is only going to hurt us both. I know I haven’t always been perfect and I should have told him how I felt before now but he’s not perfect either. I would tell him all this if he would answer his God damn phone but he won’t so you need to tell him Lottie, you need to make him see he is making the biggest mistake of his life, of our lives.”

“That’s not my place here, to fix your friendship or to be the middle man.”

“Oh so you’ll come and collect his shit and do that dirty work but you won’t ask him to fucking phone me back?” Harry spits, Lottie flinching at Harry’s words. He takes a large, shaky breath of air, trying his best not to completely spiral out of control. “Look, I’m sorry. That was shit of me. But I don’t understand why you can’t see, as somewhat outsider, that this is ridiculous. Everyone thought we were together, and there must be a reason for that.”

“Harry, I…” Lottie trails off.

Harry encourages her to continue. “Go on…”

“I thought you were meant to be together too alright? I always have. I love you and of course I love my brother and I thought you were both young and stupid and all you needed was time. But I have to believe Louis when he tells me that there’s nothing going on and there never will be and you have to believe him too, for your own sanity.”

“No.” He replies defiantly, because she’s talking bollocks. “He’s going to wake up one day and it might be tomorrow and it might be ten years from now and he’s going to realise what a fucking arse he’s been but it won’t matter, because I’ll be waiting, because we’re meant to be together.”

“I need to start packing,” is all she says back. 

He stomps over to the coffee table and snatches up his personal effects before facing Lottie again. “I’m going to go now, ‘cause I can’t be bothered to watch you pack up Louis’ life like he isn’t going to come back to me, it’s stupid and a waste of both our time. All I am asking Lottie, is that you tell him to fucking phone me when he’s stopped all this nonsense and he’s ready to come home.”

And with that he leaves the flat, slamming the door behind him.

Later that night, when Harry comes back to find the second bedroom empty of everything but the physical furniture, and the shelves in the living room cleared of Louis’ ageing DVD collection, and his stupid George Foreman grill that he’s never actually used missing from the kitchen, Harry starts to cry again. Fat, soaking tears stream down his blotchy face while he curls up into the foetal position on their sofa. He only stops when he hears the ding of his mobile, telling him he has a text and he sees Louis’ name come up on the screen from where it’s sitting on the cushion beside him. He scrambles to pick it up and swipe his thumb to open the message, but as soon as he does he wishes he hadn’t. His vision might be blurred but it’s got only two sentences he can read as clear as day.

**Please stop messaging and calling. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.**

He throws his phone at the wall, hearing the distinct crack of the glass screen, and watches it land with a soft thud on the living room carpet, before closing his eyes and wishing for the pain to go away.

After that, that’s when the agony really kicks in.


	6. Chapter Six

So missing Louis becomes a thing.

He never knew it could feel like this, heartbreak. Harry’s heard about it of course, seen it in movies and on T.V, listened to it in too many songs to count, read about it books and witnessed it for real in friends and family. But living with it himself, feeling the gut-wrenching ache, the pure, unadulterated torture of loving someone so helplessly and of them hurting you with nothing but their words and their actions, or their inactions, is like nothing Harry has ever experienced.

It doesn’t help that not having Louis around makes it painstakingly clear how intertwined their lives were. When you have lived with someone and have seen virtually every day of your life for the past six years and then suddenly you don’t, you start to realise how much you took for granted, of how you have no idea where you end and they begin anymore, of how much their life had, in fact, become your own.

The worst bit about it all though, Harry soon discovers, is when you think you’re getting over it. There’s maybe a minute or an hour or perhaps even a day that goes by without thinking about them, about the misery of them not being there or the torment of what they did to you, and you have the naive notion that you’re safe, but of course, you never are. Maybe you find one of their t-shirts stuffed in the back of your drawer that was put there by mistake, or perhaps you see one of their favourite movies listed on the T.V guide, or simply they pop into your head for no reason at all when you’re staring at the shadows created by the outside streetlights capering across wall of your bedroom at 3 a.m and you can’t sleep. Because the truth is they are never, ever far from your mind. And that’s when it hits you all over again, and you feel so fucking stupid for ever believing you would be able to forget how truly excruciating this all is.

As the days turn into weeks, as summer turns to autumn and the days grow shorter and the nights grow colder, Harry stumbles through life in a murky, colourless fog.

He drinks more, which largely goes unnoticed because his job is fairly social and it’s expected to have a few bevs when he’s out and when he’s home alone no-one is there to see what he’s doing or pry the second bottle of cheap wine from his hands and tell him he’s had enough. He goes as far as doing a couple of lines of coke when offered it one night by a friend of a friend at an industry party, but it makes him feel like shit afterwards, not because of the drug itself, but because he knows Louis would be so disappointed in him if he knew.

He doesn’t get anyone else to move in with him, despite the rent being extortionate to pay all by himself. Louis had deposited two months upfront plus bills into his bank account a week and a half after he left so he can just about manage it and he can’t stand the thought of anyone else living in Louis’ room anyway, he’d rather be broke. Plus there’s the part of him that wakes up every day thinking that this will be the day that Louis comes home to him. He’ll consider moving out when the lease is up for renewal at the beginning of next year.

And Harry doesn’t officially tell anyone what happened. He can’t, as any time he gets close to trying the words get stuck in his throat like glue, almost choking him. With most people that ask, he glosses over it with a rehearsed ‘Louis moved into his own place, I must have been nagging him about taking the bins out too much ha ha ha what a fucking lad eh?’ yarn, which doesn’t evoke too many follow up questions that he doesn’t care to or can’t answer, and no-one seems to suspect a thing. Harry’s mum isn’t as easy to fool unfortunately, and knows something’s up when she comes to visit for the day from Cheshire. It’s not hard to tell something’s amiss; not only does Louis not get involved in the visit at some point like he usually does, Harry keeps her away from the flat, but she doesn’t push it. The call two days later from Gemma not so subtly trying to pry him of information is therefore expected and he lies through his teeth. He’ll tell them eventually, but it’s a lot, informing your family that not only are you in love, but that the love of your life happens to be your best friend, who is also a man, and that man’s recently abandoned you on the top of the rubbish heap. It’s a conversation he needs to build his strength up for.

The lads, on the other hand, cannot be lied to. As far as Harry can tell, they don’t know the full extent of what’s gone on, but they know there’s been a serious falling out and try to be as understanding as possible with the situation and don’t interfere. It becomes clear to Harry pretty quickly that Louis has decided to do what he probably thinks is the honourable thing and take a step back from group settings since he’s the one that made the decision to move out and demanded they have space. That or he really doesn’t want to see Harry. Harry’s hopes of seeing him at Liam’s birthday, then at Niall’s, are met with a punch in the gut of disappointment when he doesn’t turn up, finding that he has chosen to spend their birthday celebrations doing something privately with each of the guys in turn.

Harry tries not to ask them too many questions about him, because he doesn’t want to put them in the middle, but occasionally he’ll slip up and find out snippets. Nothing earth-shattering, just that work’s going OK and that he’s living with a female friend of Lottie’s now and that he’s generally alive and hasn’t lost the ability to pick up the phone and dial Harry’s number if and when he wants to.

So Harry mostly stays calm. He internalises his anguish, doesn’t speak to anyone about it, and carries on with his meagre existence. But like a tap left to run into a plugged bath too long unattended, it all gets too much, and Harry’s feelings overflow over the sides and out of him in a minor meltdown at one point near the end of October after he receives an email to inform him that the matching Halloween costumes he had reserved months ago for himself and Louis are ready for collection. It’s quite apt actually, getting that email, because it’s yet another reminder of how Louis' has left him feeling, the words on the computer screen acting as a scoop on Harry’s insides, removing yet more pulpy sludge out of him and leaving him as hollow and gormless as a Jack o’Lantern. So when Niall comes round to his flat for a simple footie and beer night the following evening, Harry gets drunk and goes on a rant to end all rants.

“So now I have to pay for these fucking stupid outfits that _he_ chose for us and that I can’t wear alone because it’s part of a set. A pair. A couple. And it will look ridiculous on its own. That’s what _he_ chose though, for us to dress up like a fucking couple, for everyone to see how truly we are meant to be together. But he doesn’t actually get that, does he? He just thought it would be a laugh. That it’s fine if everyone already thinks we’re a couple ‘cause ‘we know the truth’, and it doesn’t matter what people say. And I’m the mug that went along with it, ‘cause I do everything he wants me to, I do everything he asks. I take care of him and run around after him but he’s always been the one that’s in control. Even when I’m fucking him. He even calls the shots when I’m the one that’s got him bent over and I’m literally doing the fucking, he still gets to decide the where and the when and the how and I’ve got to act grateful and keep my mouth shut in case I make it awkward, in case I say the wrong thing or piss him off, or in case, heaven forbid, I might actually show that it matters, that it meant something to me. And I fucking know it meant something to him. It did Niall. It meant something. It meant bloody everything. Why the fuck hasn’t he phoned me? What the fuck is wrong with him Niall? Why hasn’t he turned up at our door and told me he’s been a fucking idiot and that he loves me too?”

“I don’t-“

“You know why it is Niall? Because he’s a fucking wimp. He’s such a great big fucking coward that he’s too scared to admit that he’s in love with me. And yes, I know what you’re thinking, I was a coward too, but I said it eventually, I said it when it fucking counted, when we were down to the wire and it needed to be said. And what did he do? He walked away. Like the massive fucking cowardly cunt he is.”

“Well, I guess he-“

“And you know what pisses me off the most? What really grinds my fucking gears, Niall? Is that he actually had the gall, the fucking audacity to tell me that _I’m_ the one that has problems with commitment. That _I’m_ the one that can’t do relationships. I declared my love for him and told him I want him and only him and he ran away and hasn’t looked back.”

“I’m sure that-“

“He left me there. Did he tell you, Niall? How he left me crying and begging for him to stay with me while he packed his shit up and left me like a gutter rat? Like shit on the bottom of his shoe? Because he did. He left me sobbing on the floor of his room while he walked out on me and he can’t even pick up the fucking phone and give me a proper explanation as to why. After all we’ve been through together. I have spoken to him every single day of my life for the past eight years and he thinks he can go ahead and ignore me for months. Just like that. Even if he didn’t love me like I love him, which is, quite frankly, impossible, but even if he didn’t, he’s meant to be my best friend. How could you hurt your best friend like that?”

“If you just-“

“Everyone knew, everyone knew Niall that there was something else going on. It’s embarrassing how obvious it must have been, how clearly in love we both were but no-one said anything. You didn’t say anything, none of the other lads. All our friends and family sat there and let us be stupid, oblivious bastards until we went and fucked it up so royally we can’t ever go back to what it was before. But it’s not your fault, or theirs’, it’s mine. And it’s fucking Louis’. It’s Louis’ fault that my heart is broken and I am in so much fucking pain that I can’t think straight and he’s let everything I’ve ever believed in burn to the fucking ground.”

“Jesus FUCKING Christ mate, will you fucking stop and breathe for a second?!” Niall shouts.

“Uh…” Harry immediately halts the pacing he’s been doing in front of the T.V and stares at Niall who’s watching him from the armchair.

Niall rubs at the bridge of his nose with a look of exasperation. “I appreciate you’re upset but dear God, you’re going to give yourself an embolism or a stroke something. Can I say something please?”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” Harry stumbles back to the sofa and sits down.

Niall leans forward and places his can of lager on the coffee table and turns to face Harry head on, elbows on his bent knees and hands clasped together. “First of all, this is the first time you’ve acknowledged out loud how you felt about Louis to me. Obviously, I knew that some horrible shit had gone down, but neither of you told me what, so I kinda assumed he told you that he loved you and you’d said you weren’t that into it so he chose to move out or something.”

“You thought he loved me and I didn’t love him? He didn’t tell you what happened?”

One of Niall’s shoulders lifts to up to his ear in a dozy shrug. “Well come on mate, you’ve always been a pussy magnet, and any time we’ve spoken about you two, you’ve always said you guys were messing about, no feelings and that, so how could I know you were properly shagging this whole time and you were in love? And no, he hasn’t told me anything at all. I’ve barely seen him. You weren’t the only one he walked out on. Although I get your situation is very different.”

“Oh. So that was quite a lot of information to get in a short space of time.” Harry runs his fingers through his hair, suddenly very aware of just how much he divulged.

“You’re telling me…” Niall chuckles.

Harry leans forward and mirrors Niall’s position. “I haven’t been with anyone else in months you know, since I started sleeping with him.” He puts his face into his palms and shakes his head before dragging it upwards across his fingers and sniffing loudly to look at Niall again.“I love him, so much Niall. I need him back.”

Niall places a hand on Harry’s lower thigh and squeezes. “I get that, but you have to accept that that might not happen, as much as you want it to. I don’t understand why he’s acted the way he has, because we all thought he was doughnuts about you and that you were the only oblivious one, so it’s strange to me to hear it was the other way round. He must have his reasons though because I know he cares about you, more than he cares about anyone else.”

You would think hearing someone else tell Harry that they thought Louis was in love with him would make him feel better, but it doesn’t. “Then why did he walk out on me?”

“I don’t know. But you need to tell him how you feel.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, as if Niall thinks he hasn’t fucking tried that. “I did, and he didn’t believe me. And he won’t speak to me now, he won’t answer my calls.”

“Try something else. I know you won’t want to ambush him face to face, because that never works with Louis, but you could email him, write him a letter, send him a note on a fucking owl Harry Potter style, I don’t know. All I know is you can’t keep living this like. It’s not healthy, to feel this much rage and sadness and not let it out.”

Harry nods, already feeling a little lighter having got stuff off his chest and mind. “OK. I’ll think about it.”

“Please do. You are both so important to me and I makes me sad you aren’t even friends now.”

***

Harry sort of takes Niall’s advice. He doesn’t contact Louis at all, because he can’t handle the constant rejection of his attempts going unanswered, but he does start to write letters, handwritten notes to Louis that he doesn’t have any intention of sending him, but it helps to sort out the chaos in his head. Some of the letters are short, maybe only a paragraph or two, others last pages and pages, and it’s often endless drivel, just ramblings of a mad man, like when he talks about feeling like he’s on the ledge, peering over the side into that unknown abyss that’s called love, driving himself crazy waiting for his one person, his soulmate, to come tell him that he’s back for good, to stroke his hair and whisper that the pain is over now, to hold his hand firmly then jump in feet first with him so they can finally immerse themselves in it together for real.

Some of his letters are full of memories, reminding Louis of times they spent together when the signs were there that they were already in love, dating all the way back to when they first met, but they hadn’t seen them, or maybe they had and chose to ignore them for reasons Harry will never be sure of. Other letters are about how he thinks their future will look, what kind of house they’ll buy and how their wedding will be and what it’s going to be like to grow old together.

He scribbles and scrawls about his anger, about how after all this time and after everything they have been through, he doesn’t understand how Louis could cut him off like he has, about the frustration of watching him walk out without so much as a backward glance, but he tells Louis that he forgives him, and that Louis can take all the time he needs before he returns to Harry’s open arms.

He tells Louis about his struggles with his sexual identity. Not that he has had any real struggles with it, only that he now believes that the reason he’s never been with a man is that since the day he met Louis he couldn’t imagine being with a man that wasn’t him, it just took him a while to figure that out. He doesn’t care what label people want to give him or what label he gives himself, all he’s concerned with is that he’s with Louis and they’re happy and together. He tells him about the time he went back to the guy’s flat when he thought Louis was with Joel, and the time before that when he slept with his female friend after that first drunken experience together, because he has to be honest about everything now, even though just seeing the words on the page makes him want to rip his own skin off.

He describes their carnal moments together. Not in detail, more about how Louis made him feel comfortable and safe and loved as he discovered things about himself as well as on fire and how he hopes that Louis felt the same way. About how Louis smells and tastes and feels under his fingertips and against his own naked flesh and how celestial Louis looks when he comes and how Harry feels so, so privileged to be able to experience him like that. But mainly how he simply yearns to be close to Louis. He tells him how of course the sex is amazing but he’d go without it for the rest of his life it if meant he could hold Louis again for one more minute.

But the most important letters, the ones that Harry really takes his time over, the ones that make him bleed sentiments the most, are the ones where he tells Louis how much he misses his best friend. Forget the love stuff, forget the sex, forget the shit Louis has put him through, the thing that makes all this infinitely harder on Harry is that he has lost the one person that got him completely, the one person that he could confide in, that he could laugh at anything with, that he could scream and bitch at when he had a bad day and would take it, that could give him advice and comfort, that could turn the colours up full blast when the world had become dark and grey, the one person who would be by his side no matter what.

That person has gone. And Harry still doesn’t understand why.

***

November makes way for December and the approaching holidays take on an entirely different feel than previous years. Harry would have already been planning Louis’ birthday by this point, buying his presents and organising his party or outing well before Christmas Eve approached, and so he’s at a bit of a loss for what to do with himself, particularly in their empty flat where he can’t bring himself to put up so much as a bit of tinsel where he would normally be putting up a birthday banner and colourful bunting. Should he get Louis a present? He isn’t sure. He asks Niall what he thinks and Niall responds by asking if Harry would want to receive a present from Louis and if so what would he want. That helps Harry make up his mind, so he wraps up in a bright red box with pretty gold ribbon the only thing he can think to give him and leaves it by the front door for two weeks so it purposely mocks him every time he enters or leaves.

“Harry. What are you doing here?”

He’s at Lottie’s door five days before Louis’ birthday. He thought it was the best idea, rather than going through one of the lads, but now he’s standing in front of her, looking into a face that has hints of the man he loves in it, it makes his chest hurt. Even hearing the similar accent is arduous.

“I came to give you this. I’m hoping you’ll pass it along to Louis.” He holds out a large present bag with a picture of a Santa on it, red tissue paper poking out the top. “It’s a couple of things he left at our flat that he might be missing, and his present. I know what you think about me, but if you could make sure he gets it I’d be very grateful.”

“You have no idea what I think about you,” Lottie says as she takes the bag from him and rests it down by her side on the hallway carpet, before stepping out onto the concrete doorstep in her slippers and wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck in a robust hug. “I miss you so much Haz,” she whispers into his ear.

Harry encloses his own arms around her waist and squeezes tightly. He doesn’t get to hug people like this much these days. “I miss you too Lotts.”

She kisses his cold cheek and drops back down, but doesn’t step back, instead taking a hold of his freezing hands in her own warm ones and looks up at him. “How are you?”

“I’m good thanks. You?” he tells her.

Her head pivots down to the right and she smiles sadly at him. “How are you really?”

“Fucking miserable,” he mutters, looking down at their joined hands.

Lottie hums an acknowledgement like she thought as much, and shakes their clasped fingers so Harry looks back up at her. “I’m sorry, about that day I came to the flat for his things. I’m really sorry for what I said and how I acted. I thought I was protecting my brother.”

“I know petal, I know. And I’m sorry too. I didn’t handle it very well,” he chokes out.

She shakes her head. “He’s a fucking idiot. We all think so, you know. But you know how stubborn he can be.”

Harry can feel the tears falling. This was a mistake, coming here, seeing her. “I should go.” He plucks his hands from hers and stuffs them in his coat pockets, not even bothering to wipe the salty droplets away, because he knows more are threatening to take their place. He makes to leave but Lottie’s hand shoots up to cling at his bicep.

“Harry, he’s going to come back to you. In one way or the other, he will. You’ve got to keep your faith in him.”

It’s Harry’s turn to shake his head and pulls out of her grip, slowly backing away from her along the pavement. “I’m not sure I can Lottie. I’m starting to think he took my faith in him when he left, along with everything else I’ve ever tried to give him.” He turns around and walks away into the frosty night.

***

Harry travels back to Holmes Chapel the very next day, his mum fussing over him and his sister as soon as they cross the threshold of the house they grew up in. He spends the lead up to Christmas Day easily enough, having a few pints with a couple of mates from school and catching up with relatives he hasn’t seen in forever, interspersed with helping his mum with chores around the house. It’s nice, and being somewhere he doesn’t have a lot of ties with Louis helps him breathe and sleep a little better, but before Christmas Day, comes Christmas Eve, and Harry has no choice but to be continually reminded of its fast approach.

He tells his mum and Gemma everything on the morning of what is Louis’ twenty-seventh birthday. He has to, because neither of them understand why he is isn’t with Louis when he has been for the last six years, and after the umpteenth time of asking if everything’s alright, the dam breaks and a torrent of truth and emotion comes tumbling from his mouth. They all cry. Not because they’re angry or upset or confused at the fact that Harry’s in love with a guy, but because they can see just how much pain Harry has been in and that they didn’t know and couldn’t be there for him when he needed someone the most. For the next few days after that, they wrap him up in cotton wool and treat him like he’s going to shatter at any moment. Normally Harry would find it suffocating, but he needs it, he realises, the compassion and affection, the feeling he’s being taken care of, because it’s been distinctly lacking in his life of late.

Harry does text Louis. It’s gets to nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and when he sees that Louis posted a picture on his social media with his siblings, the first photo he’s posted in six months as Harry knows all too well from his daily checks, he can’t fight the urge to acknowledge it.

 **Happy birthday Lou. Hope you had a good day.** **Family looks well. All the love. Hx**

 **Thanks Haz. Family send their best.** **Merry Christmas when it comes.Lx**

**You too. Hx**

And that’s it. That’s all he gets from their first and only interaction in months. He doesn’t know whether to be furious or devastated. He opts for numb instead.

***

On the twenty-seventh of December, Harry boards a plane.

He can’t afford it, a trip to Caribbean that is, but he does it anyway, blowing his entire Christmas bonus on eight nights in a tropical country because the thought of spending New Years in the same city, on the same continent, as the man that he spent last New Years kissing, fills Harry was so much dread he didn’t have much of a choice.

He regrets the decision as soon as the plane hits the tarmac. He thought being alone in a foreign country would be easier than feeling alone in his own, but it doesn’t, it only cements the fact he is just that; entirely alone. He spends the first couple of days drowning his sorrows with rum in the shade of the poolside bar and staring at his phone willing it to ring. The hotel staff watch him with interest and varying degrees of disgust and pity. Or maybe he’s imagining it and that’s Harry reflecting his own feelings back on himself. Either way, he drinks until he can do nothing but crawl under his covers in his hotel room and pass out.

It’s 9.45 a.m on the morning of New Year’s Eve when there is a knock at the door. Harry groans. He was already wide awake, but he’s lying on his bed in only his boxers and he really cannot be arsed getting up off of it just to get clean towels. The maid will most likely come in if he doesn’t answer though so he knows he needs to make a move.

He shouts ‘coming’ loudly so the person on the other side will hear him and rolls off the bed, grabbing the first pair of shorts he can reach and sliding them up his legs, scraping his messy bed hair quickly up into a knot with a hair bobble and padding barefoot over to the door. When he opens to reveal the hotel employee, his heart stops.

“Hi,” is all Louis says.

Harry immediately closes his eyes to rub them harshly with the tips of his fingers and opens them again. Nope. Louis is still standing there. Harry proceeds to look him up and down, taking everything in. He’s let his hair grown in again, and even though it’s soft and he’s run his fingers through it a few times, Harry can tell that it’s been under a baseball cap probably since before he left London or wherever he’s flown from and that he’s taken it off to come to Harry’s door. He’s also not shaved for a few days, which helps to hide the slight gauntness of his face, but that can’t fool Harry either, his slender body also hinting at the weight loss, accentuated by the thin white t-shirt and blue shorts hanging off his hips. He’s not been feeding himself properly. And he looks like he hasn’t slept since he and Harry last saw each other. Harry’s immediate gut reaction, the very first thought that filters through his brain, is that he needs to start looking after Louis again, getting him eating and sleeping and living right again. But the cogs begin to turn and Harry remembers that that’s not his job any more. Louis made damn sure of that.

Harry can’t be certain how long they’ve been staring at each other for before Louis opens his mouth for a second time. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asks with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Why are you here Louis?” He wishes it had come out stronger, to show that Harry will be taking charge of the situation from the get-go for once, but he knows he simply sounds resigned, like somewhere in his subconscious he knew this whole thing might transpire.

“I came to give you this.” Louis’ hand that was hidden behind his back is drawn to the front and he holds out a piece of fruit between them.

Harry’s brows knit together. “You flew halfway around the world to give me a mango?”

“Well yeah. Not sure if you remember but last New Year’s Eve you said you wanted to be somewhere hot with a cocktail served in a mango in your hand and I promised I would make that happen. You already managed the first part yourself so I had to make sure you had the correct fruit.”

Harry wants to punch him and kiss him in equal measures. He slovenly takes it from him. “Pretty sure they have mangoes in the Caribbean Lou. Is that it?”

Now that his cute, prepared skit is over with, Louis’ body fills with nerves. His fingers clench and release down by his sides and his left foot fidgets against the patterned carpet of the hallway. “Uh, no, can I come in?”

“I don’t know.” This is all too confusing. Harry doesn’t know what he wants to happen right now.

“Please?” Louis pleads.

Harry sighs. “Louis-“

“I know. I know I fucked up,” he says, taking a step forward with his arms up, pressing his palms together in prayer, “but I’m here to try and at least start making it right. Please Haz? I get that I don’t deserve it but if you still have any feelings for me you’ll let me in.”

Harry takes a few seconds, playing with his lip between his thumb and forefinger as he weighs up his options. He could tell Louis to go fuck himself, tell him that turning up out the blue is entirely unfair and that he can’t just waltz back in and expect Harry to listen to what he has to say like nothing has happened. His other option is the man he is madly in love with is standing in front of him and Harry knows there is no way he isn’t letting him in.

“How did you know I was here?” Harry asks as he opens the door wide and steps back to allow Louis to pass, closing it behind him, ensuring the ‘do not disturb’ sign is on the door.

“Niall says hi,” is how Louis chooses to answer. He walks over to the balcony doors and nods his head in question back at Harry. That’s a good idea, Harry could do with some fresh air, so he nods back in agreement.

“Should of known that Irish cunt would sell me out,” Harry says as he disposes of the mango on the dressing table and follows him out, seeing that Louis has come to a rest leaning his lower back against the white railing, and Harry takes a deep breath while looking out across the water as he props his crossed arms on the same railing beside him.

“In his defence, I sat on him until he told me. Didn’t want me to ruin your holiday.”

Harry wants to laugh, imagining the scene in his head of Niall and Louis wrestling on Niall’s couch or floor while Louis tries to extract information from him, but it’s not all that funny, Louis having to badger and fight it out of someone to find out when Harry is. They used to always know where each other was, or at a minimum be able to pick up the phone to find out. Harry turns his body round to face him and rests his hip on the barricade this time, looking at Louis’ profile. He looks stunning, the low morning sun creating shadows on his fragile features. “So why did you?”

Louis coughs, a fake, paltry sound. “I got your present.”

Harry nods in understanding. “How was your birthday? And Christmas?”

“Well my birthday was pretty rubbish, you weren’t there. And Christmas was downright awful. Spent it reading thirty-eight letters back to back from my best friend basically spelling it out in minute detail what a stupid fucking prick I am. Wasn’t exactly a cheery day.” There isn’t any anger in his tone, only sadness. Maybe some guilt.

Harry looks out to the water again, the beat of his heart picking up. “That wasn’t my intention, you know. I wasn’t planning to send them to you when I wrote them. It was a way of getting the shit out of my head. But Niall asked me what I would want from you if the tables were turned and all I wanted was answers, a real explanation as to why you left.”

“I get that. I wrote a letter too actually.”

Harry looks at him to find he’s looking straight back. “You did? I never got it?”

“I know, hence why I’m here. Needed to hand deliver it.” He pulls out a crisp, white envelope from his pocket and holds it out in front of him. Harry’s fingers itch to take it. He once thought that he would swim an ocean for Louis if he asked, and so it’s slight poetic justice that Louis flew over one for him without a word, but he still isn’t going to let Louis get away with this that easily.

Harry stands up straight and takes a step back. “Read it to me. Out loud.”

“Seriously?”

Harry’s raises an eyebrow. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“But I-“

“Just fucking read it. You came all this way to say something, you can say it to my bloody face. I think I deserve at least that much from you.” Louis takes a deep breath and opens the envelope to pull out a single piece of A4. Harry can see from where he’s standing that it’s handwritten. He can also see his hands are trembling. Louis looks up at him and for the first time in their lives he looks genuinely scared of Harry, and Harry realises that he _is_ finally in charge of the situation, but that it’s the first time ever in their relationship. He doesn’t know what to expect, but it doesn’t take long for him to find out, because after another inhale and exhale, Louis looks down and begins to read.

_My Dearest Haz_

_I am in love with you._

_There. I said it. God it feels so good to finally get it out. Well down on paper at least, but I know from reading your letters you’ll get how cathartic it can be. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I have never told you just how much I love you, but it’s a burden I’ve had to carry with me for many years, loving someone that you can’t believe will ever feel the same way about you._

_I sometimes wondered how you never saw it. Everyone else did. I used to get asked all the time if I had romantic feelings for you, but I would always laugh it off. ‘What a cliche’ I’d tell them, ‘asking the gay guy if he’s in love with his straight best friend’. It would make them feel bad for questioning me, which suited me perfectly because it stopped any further inquiry. I needed that you see, since I was the fucking cliche, I was the poster child for it, had been since the day you and I met. I’ve tried to get over you countless times, to find someone else to love, but none of them ever compared. Every guy I’ve dumped before or because he manages to work out that you’re the only man I have wanted and will ever want._

_It was probably incredibly stupid of me, becoming best friends and then moving in with the boy I was completely besotted with, only to watch him grown into a man that I fall deeper and deeper in love with every day, even when we’re apart. But I’ve always been one for self-sabotage, as my actions have proven time and time again. I used to tell myself that it was better to have you in my life as just my best friend than not have you in my life at all, and that was true, that was how I lived for a long time. I thought about telling you of course, so many times, but I was afraid you would walk away so it was better to live in silence._

_But then we kissed, and you began to share yourself with me in ways I never could have dreamed of, that I could never go back from, and God, you’re so fucking addictive Haz. You need to know that. I kept thinking I’d stop it, kept telling myself ‘just once more, and then I’ll end it, that’ll be enough.’ But I didn’t, did I? It never was enough, the more you let me have you, the more I wanted. I began to play a sick, selfish game of Russian roulette, pulling the trigger with every kiss, every touch, every sacred moment you shared with me, knowing that it would end one day when you finally opened your eyes to what you were doing and realised it was all some stupid mistake, just silly fun and move on to someone new. When you tried to speak to me about it, I brushed it off as if it meant nothing to me or lashed out at you, which was so awful of me. I said horrible things to you, let you believe I thought poorly of you and how you treat others when of course I didn’t, it was because I was jealous, and I couldn’t risk exposing myself to you and have you leave me. In the end, I decided it might hurt less in the long run if I left you before you had the chance to._

_So I ran. Like a fucking coward, I dropped the loaded gun and I ran before I could shoot myself but it shot you instead and I will never, ever forgive myself for hurting you the way I have. Please know I thought I was doing the best thing for you too at the time. I get I should have listened to you that day, the day that I moved out and you tried to tell me you loved me too, but you have to understand I had spent so many years convincing myself that that was impossible, that when you finally said it, my paranoid mind chose to believe that you were confused or blinded by lust or something._

_Thank you for writing to me. I understand how hard that must have been for you, to continue to give me so much of yourself and get nothing in return, but I’m hoping that with your help we can move forward and I can really show you how different things can be, how different I can be now that you know the truth. If that’s what you want of course. Now I know there is probably more to say, another thirty-seven letters-worth more possibly, but this is what I’ve got for now, and I will finish by saying I will do anything you ask of me to make it up to you, if you choose to let me. You are the most important thing in my life._

_I love you Harry. You are my best friend and the love of my life, and always will be._

_Forever yours_

_Lou xxx_

Louis folds the piece of paper up and slides it back into the envelope before dropping it onto the small outdoor table beside him and lifting both his hands to wipe the tears streaming from his face as Harry stands completely still staring at him, tears cascading down his own. When Louis finally looks up, that’s all Harry needs to propel himself forward and into Louis’ space, seizing Louis’ face in his palms and kissing him fervently, Louis clutching onto Harry’s sides as he returns the passion.

“I love you. We’re both so fucking stupid, but I’m so in love with you,” Harry rushes out as he tries in vain to wipe the dampness away from Louis’ cheeks before pecking at him again.

“I’m the stupid one, I’m so sorry Haz. I’m in love with you too,” Louis echoes, reaching to dry Harry’s face for him too. Harry attempts to walk Louis backwards through the open balcony doors, and slides them shut, which is pretty difficult when you are trying to keep as much of your body pressed up against someone as you possibly can, including your mouth, but he just about manages. “This is it yeah? No more games, no more bullshit. You and me. For real.”

The back of Louis’ legs hit the bed and Harry uses the pause to grab the hem of Louis’ t-shirt and rip it off up and over his head, discarding it somewhere behind him, desperate to feel Louis’ warm skin against his own. “God yes. You’re it for me. You’re my person.” He pushes Louis down onto the mattress and rushes to follow, climbing to straddle him.

Louis claws at Harry’s arms to pull him down on top of him, taking his face in his hands firmly, his eyes intensely bright. “You’re my person too, you’re my fucking universe. I love you so much.”

Harry begins to run his hands everywhere, his eyes roaming all over Louis’ body, feasting on the man that’s he’s been missing, been craving for so long. “Can I just… I want to hold you… Please…” It all of a sudden becomes too overwhelming. Harry feels like he can’t breathe properly, a guttural sob escaping now that it properly hits home that Louis is here and telling him everything he’s wanted to hear for months, maybe years. “You can’t… You can’t keep running away,” he snivels, getting more distraught by the second, feeling his heart jackrabbiting in his throat. “Please no more pushing me away. I can’t do it again, I won’t… I just-“

“Hey, hey, come here,” Louis soothes. “Shhh… I won’t. I promise, you have me now, always. I’m not going anywhere this time. Never again.” He wraps his arms around Harry tightly and Harry can do nothing by thaw, his limbs going slack and becoming a heavy weight while his face lands in Louis’ neck. He starts to cry again, because he can’t believe how happy he is, what a relief it is to his soul that he’s got him back, he’s got Louis back in his arms, finally.

Louis holds him while he weeps, whispering in his ear that he’s here to stay, he’s never leaving again, that he loves Harry with his whole heart, and that he is so incredibly sorry for the pain he has caused, while stroking softly at Harry’s bare, sun-kissed skin. Harry answers by simply digging his hands underneath Louis and wrapping his arms around him too, keeping him as close as possible while he lets it all pour out of him. Eventually, when there are no more tears left to fall, Louis pats at his spine. “Haz, I love you, but you weigh a fucking tonne. Can we roll over for a second bubs?” Harry giggles against his throat, leaving a single kiss there before helping Louis manoeuvre them both onto their sides, still intertwined. He pulls back and is aware he must look like an absolute state, drawing his hands up to his face to wipe at his eyes and then at his nose with the back of his hands.

“Sorry, I’m all gross,” he pouts. Louis' eyes are puffy and red too.

“You’re gorgeous. The most gorgeous boy I’ve ever met.” Louis reaches up and thumbs under his eye. Harry sniffs loudly, both of them wincing and chuckling at the sound of bubbly, wet snot.

“You sure about that?” Harry says bashfully.

Louis cups Harry’s cheek properly and presses his lips to Harry’s in a moist kiss. “One hundred per cent my love.”

Harry replaces his hands round Louis’ middle and tugs to bring him closer. “I’m in love with you,” he tells him. He can’t simply say ‘I love you’ any more because he used to say that all the time when they were friends, and he needs Louis to know that it isn’t the same, that he’s crazy about him in ways that no other words could describe.

“I’m in love with you too. And I’m so sorry,” Louis murmurs as he twists a stray curl of Harry’s hair that has escaped from his bun around his index finger.

Harry shakes his head against the pillow and kisses Louis’ nose. “That’s over with now. You don’t need to keep saying you’re sorry.”

“Yeah, but shouldn’t we talk about it? You need to know how awful I feel.”

Harry snorts. “Ooooh so now you want to talk huh?”

“Harry…“

Harry moves to prop himself up on his elbow and looks down at Louis who is now on his back, taking one of Louis’ hands and brushing his lips against his knuckles. “Look. I want to talk about anything and everything with you, of course I do, but just not about that anymore. We’re both sorry and we’ve both been stupid and blind to each other’s feelings and messed each other up enough that we don’t need to keep going over it. I don’t want to waste any more time on feeling like shit. Been there, done that, don’t want the t-shirt. I want to be with you and you want to be with me and that’s all that matters now OK?”

Louis’ smile is small while he looks at their joined hands. “OK,” he says softly.

“Good.” He pauses to look up and down Louis’ thinner frame. “Now, I think we should both go splash some water on our faces then order some room service because I need to fatten you back up.”

“Pfft.” Louis rolls his eyes. “Nothing wrong with me. Still got my big arse.”

Harry shakes his head and removes his hand from Louis’, sliding it down to pinch gently at Louis’ behind. “Mmm. Don’t need to order room service to fill that though do I?”

“Always about the shagging with you eh?” Louis teases.

Harry looks at him in astonishment. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re the one that’s always clambering over me wanting a piece. You’re telling me you don’t want sex?”

Louis shrugs, but he can’t hide the delight from his face. “Maybe. When you’re less snotty though.” He flicks at Harry’s nose.

“You’re gonna pay for that kitten,” Harry growls, leaning down and biting at Louis’ pec playfully, causing Louis to release a shriek and push him away laughing. “Hold up. Do you even have luggage with you?”

“Uh yeah, left it with reception.” He looks down and starts to fiddle awkwardly with the drawstring of the shorts he’s wearing. “Thought it would be bold to assume I’d get to stay with you. But I… Uh… didn’t book a room or anything, just jumped on the first flight I could get on.” It’s adorable, the way he’s gone all sheepish about it. Like there was ever any doubt he’d be staying with Harry though. Harry lies back down onto the bed properly and drags Louis’ body on top of him so they’re laying chest to chest again. He relishes the added weight pressing down on him.

“Mmm. Knew I’d be easy for you didn’t you darling?” Harry tells him, stroking Louis’ hair out of his eyes.

Louis kisses him tenderly. “Nothing about loving you has ever been easy for me Haz, through my own failings. But it’s also been the greatest thing I’ve ever done with my life so far. You’re everything to me.”

Harry tightens his arms around him once more. “Love you so much, Lou.”

“I love _you_ so much.” This time when they kiss, Louis deepens it quickly, turning it into a debauched make out session, all tongue and teeth and spit, both of them forgetting about the red eyes and the tear stains and the prospect of food, simply content to be back together again.

***

It’s a few minutes to midnight when they find themselves on a sun lounger on a deserted stretch of beach down by the water from the hotel. Harry is lying in between Louis’ legs, resting his back and head against Louis’ chest as they look out over the endless sweep of ocean lit only by the building far behind them and the almost full moon. There’s a party going on further down the coast, they can see a huge bonfire and groups of people singing and dancing to faint music, but they had decided they wanted to bring in the New Year by themselves.

After they had spent the best part of their morning snogging and whispering heartfelt devotions to each other, they had finally peeled themselves away, Louis going to fetch his suitcase, Harry using the time to send a quick text to Niall telling him that he’s the absolute best and hopes he has an amazing New Year. Once Louis had returned, teasing banter had triggered a play fight between the men, which quickly descended into Harry fucking Louis with Louis on his stomach, then in Harry’s lap, then a bonus round over the balcony railings. There were a lot more adorations and I love you’s uttered then too.

Louis took Harry to dinner at a restaurant further down the resort, their first official date as Harry had exclaimed with glee as they walked hand in hand, barefoot in the sand, after showering and finally putting on a full set of clothes for the evening. There had been a bit of awkwardness while they ate, as naturally they had missed out on months of each other's lives and were forced to catch up, but the awkwardness turned to awe when Louis had secretly organised for the barman to serve Harry his accompanying cocktail in a hollowed out mango. It had ended up being a lot harder to drink than Harry imagined, much to Louis’ amusement, but it was the thought that counted and Harry was compelled to kiss him right there in the restaurant, revelling in the fact that that was something they could do now, be publicly affectionate without fear of recrimination from each other.

They’ve been sitting by the shore now for an hour or so, a blanket around them even though it still feels relatively warm with little breeze, hands intertwined and Louis occasionally leaving soft pecks on Harry’s neck and temple and lips when the conversation slows enough to allow it.

“So, Lou, have you got any New Years resolutions then?” Harry asks after they’ve been silent for a few minutes.

“I thought you didn’t believe in them?”

“I never said that. I’ve always said I don’t make them myself if I know I won’t follow it through.”

Louis nods above him. “Aw yeah, I remember now. You making any this year?”

“Yeah,” Harry tells him, “but I asked you first.”

Louis jostles his torso and kisses the side of his face. “Ah that’s how it’s going to go then? Well, I’ll start by telling you mine from last year.”

Harry twists his head up at him in surprise. “You told me you never had one last year.”

“Mmmm, well since it was ‘build up the courage to tell Harry the truth about how I really feel about him’, I couldn’t exactly tell you could I?”

Harry squeezes his hand. “I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t for so long. But it makes me glad you finally did. Even if you were cutting it pretty close to the deadline and I sort of forced you into it,” he laughs, turning back to face the water.

“Yeah, well, makes this year's a lot easier to achieve.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he purrs, “mine is to tell you every single day how much I love you.”

Harry smiles, even though Louis can’t see it. “That’s a good one. Mine is better though.”

“It is?”

“Yup. Mine’s to spend every New Year with you for the rest of my life.” And he really plans to, no matter what happens, because he needs to make sure he never loses Louis again.

Louis sighs with content and squeezes him. “Yeah bubs, I think that’s a better one too.”

“Mmm. Good. When are you going to move your stuff back into the flat then?” Harry asks, the thought being on his mind all day.

“Um… I wasn’t planning to?”

“What?” Harry gasps, clumsily turning himself around in between Louis’ legs so he’s now kneeling in front of him. “Why the hell not?”

Louis takes one of Harry’s hands in his and fiddles nervously with his rings. “Well, for starters, I would really like to do this properly with you. Now that you’re finally mine I want to treat you right; take you out on real dates, bring you flowers, walk you to your door, kiss you goodnight and all that shit.”

Harry softens, a grin spreading over his face. “All that shit?”

Louis nods, his own smile forming to match. “All of it, the whole cheesy, sickeningly romantic, people will gag it’s so cute shebang.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums as he crawls along Louis’ body and rests his weight on top of him. “Wined and dined by Louis Tomlinson, sounds kinda nice. And then what?”

Louis brushes the hair off of Harry’s face and then rubs at his shoulders and biceps. “I don’t want to move back into a place where I have an old bedroom, where you and I’ve been with other people, where the majority of our memories are as friends. So as the lease is up soon, I figured we could look for a new place, somewhere to make new memories together as a proper couple. What do you think?”

“I think that would be perfect.” Harry leans down, slotting their mouths together and tonguing in. Not even two minutes later, fireworks can be heard in the distance, signifying that the bells have begun. Harry pulls away.

“Happy New Year Lou,” he says down at the gorgeous man, _his_ gorgeous man.

“Happy New Year Haz,” Louis replies, moving to bring their lips back together again.

Harry can’t quite believe it. He started this year by kissing his best friend on a whim and he finished it by kissing the same man, his love, with more purpose and intent than he has ever given anything in his life. It might have been a rocky and at times painful journey to get here, and there are parts of it he doesn’t care to remember from this day forward, but he appreciates that he and Louis will be so much stronger for it. The important thing is they’re together now, for real.

___________

And so, as it turns out, the very next New Years Eve, being engaged to Louis becomes a thing, as does being married to him the New Years after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I also have a Tumblr which is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com) if you want to say hello! The specific post for this fic is [here](http://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/post/181150947085/and-touch-me-like-you-never-written-as-part-of-the).
> 
> Comments and feedback is welcome and always responded to :-D


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